Word On A Wing
by Leonhard van Euler
Summary: Harry just wanted a moment of peace. He didn't want any trouble. But in typical fashion, he falls off a quidditch goalpost and a concussion later he's seeing visions of Merlin's life... or is he just finally going crazy? Harry-is-Merlin reincarnated. Druids, Mordred, Arthurian legend reinvented. Oh yes, and a few dragons.
1. Chapter 1

Word On A Wing: Chapter 1.

Hello old and new readers! This is a rewrite of my 16k word story by the name of Rebirth... this version is considerably longer: I have about twelve pre-written chapters, so you can expect about three months worth of updates. I wrote this story listening to Leonard Cohen's You want it darker (okay and Jumping at shadows by Fleetwood mac on repeat on rainy days). It was the last album he wrote and produced shortly before his death... and holy shit you can certainly hear that he was aware that he was close to death. In any case, check it out if you want... I feel that a lot of the atmosphere and general vibe on the album was somehow projected onto this story. So be warned: a lot of existential reflection.

(also story named after a song on the Station to Station album by David Bowie)

Also I haven't written anything seriously for about half a year, so my English is not up to scratch. Please forgive me.

* * *

They stood in a silence as icy as the ground beneath their feet. To the side, a gnome that Harry had been watching had finally managed to extricate his worm and was now sucking on it happily, leaning against the bottom-most branches of the rhododendron bush in the Weasley's back garden.

Harry stood here with the Minister for Magic, morosely attempting to steer the conversation away from politics and in specificity, himself.

"What is Dumbledore up to?" said Scrimgeour brusquely, when Harry didn't reply to his last question. "Where does he go, when he is absent from Hogwarts?"

"No idea," said Harry. Technically, he didn't really know _where _he went, although Dumbledore sometimes told him why he had been wherever he'd been. Searching for a way to defeat Voldemort was the most recent version of events.

"And you wouldn't tell me if you knew," said Scrimgeour, "would you?"

"No. I wouldn't," replied Harry, secretly liking the way Scrimgeour visibly deflated - like cat that had been denied catnip — or Dudley a piece of candy from Petunia.

"Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can't find out by other means." The man said in a defeated tone. Harry eyed him shrewdly, obviously he was now attempting to guilt-trip him, or at least emotionally manipulate him.

"You can try," said Harry indifferently. "But you seem cleverer than Fudge, so I'd have thought you'd have learned from his mistakes. He tried interfering at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he isn't Minister anymore, but Dumbledore's still Headmaster. I'd leave him alone, if I were you."

There was a long pause as a number of different emotions played out on the Minister's face. Harry smirked inwardly, the man was ridiculously easy to read - it was a wonder he had become the Minister for Magic at all. Then again, he was a former head auror and would not have become Minister in the first place, if not for his murdered superiors.

"Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you," said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimed glasses. "Dumbledore's man through and through, aren't you, Potter?"

Harry didn't hesitate to answer him, "yeah, I am. Glad we straightened that out."

With that, he turned his back on the Minister for Magic, and strode back the way he had come. The snow crunched beneath his feet but he paid it no mind. Glancing upwards, and straightening out his glasses, he noticed most of the Weasley family was glued to the windows that looked out into the front yard, obviously trying to see what was happening. Harry pretended not to notice, and instead made his way to the quidditch pitch. He needed to think and the Quidditch place was always the perfect spot for that.

He stalked up to the nearest quidditch hoop and pulling himself up, managed to climb up to the highest one. His arms ached, but he paid that no mind as he watched the sun settle behind a row of trees. Harry had never feared heights, but seeing how far down the rock-hard ground was, frightened him slightly.

He could see the Minister finally bypass the gate leading to the Weasley's house. He spun on his heel and disappeared with a loud crack.

Harry's conversation with Scrimgeour had been an eye-opener - this war was becoming increasingly more political and that made Harry anxious. He had always detested politics.

Politicians were liars - professional liars - who loved to coerce, blackmail and suck up to people to achieve their personal goals. As far as he saw it, he was safer with Voldemort than with that pack of hyaenas.

Harry ruffled his hair and the snowflakes that hadn't yet melted, fell to the ground. These last few months had been odd. There had been an increasingly strong feeling of foreboding growing in the pit of his stomach. Something was going to happen soon, something bad, something worse than Voldemort.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind of those oppressive thoughts. He never managed to, as a gust of wind suddenly caught him and easily blew him off the hoop - much like the snowflakes that he had shaken off moments ago. He hit his head on the icy ground beneath the blanket of powdery snow and he knew no more.

.

_This was a vision, he was sure of it._

_Harry blinked as he looked around… this wasn't right. It was winter, not summer… yet as he stared around him, Harry noticed that he appeared to be in a small village with miserable, small huts made out of old wood. Most houses had a small fence around the back with an assortment of farm animals. The air smelled of them too. _

_The sun shone brightly above his head, making his skin itch a little. _

_Harry blinked rapidly, this wasn't a normal vision. Usually whenever he had one, he experienced everything through Voldemort's or Nagini's eyes, he saw things clearly, but not as clearly as now, and he certainly didn't _feel _the sun on his face and skin. He didn't smell scents either. _

_Harry sighed, and was forced to conclude that this wasn't a Voldemort induced vision. After all, he was sure Voldemort hadn't lived during the medieval era - and this was most certainly that moment in time… judging by the state of the village. _

_Gazing about in confusion, he suddenly caught sight of a young boy - perhaps six or seven - clutching his knees to his chest as he hid in the shadows of a house. He was dressed in loose, worn, threadbare trousers and a tunic. A rope was tied around his waist to keep his trousers up. _

_Taking pity on the obviously poor boy, he approached him and suddenly wondering whether this vision was a vision at all, he poked the boy, and found that his finger sailed right through his shoulder. Frowning, Harry gazed at him more intently. _

_Now that he had come closer, Harry could see that the boy was staring at his hands, amazement, anguish, terror and bafflement swirling in his eyes. _

_The boy reached down next to him and plucked the bud from a flower. He cupped his hands around it and blew on it. Unexpectedly, he bud began to open, revealing an entirely common dandelion. _

_Harry stared at the exhibit of magical power. Accidental magic was common with children - hell, _he'd _experienced a lot of it - but a child who could control his accidental magic wilfully!? Unheard of!_

_There was a sudden shout and both the boy and Harry raised their heads to the direction from which it was coming. A woman was advancing on the little boy. She was smiling widely, until she saw the little bud blossoming in the boy's hand. Harry was half-expecting her to blow up in a murderous rage, but instead she gasped and covered her mouth as she gave a laugh of joy. _

_"__You have Magic!" _

_The boy looked up at her, grinning. He jumped to his feet and ran to hug his mother. The woman kneeled down and pulled him away from her hips. She cupped his face in her hands and gave him a long and loving look. She kissed him on the forehead. _

_"__Hunith!" another voice called. Both the boy, Harry, and the woman — Hunith — glanced up to see a long-bearded man of a similar age to the mother approaching them. He was dressed equally as poorly as the boy, but there was a pride and honour about him that many well-dressed men did not have. _

_"__Father!" the boy exclaimed, running to him. He extended a hand with the dandelion. For a moment the father did not seem to comprehend, but then he blinked and saw that the flower was still blossoming. He took it into his own hands in a reverent fashion. _

_"__Magic has selected our little boy?" He whispered with awe to his wife. _

_"__Emrys was always destined for great things, Aurelius," Hunith whispered back. Harry had always associated the name Aurelius with Romans, so he was surprised to hear it here, in this evidently very historical setting. Then again, the Romans _had _invaded Great Britain a while ago. And indeed, the father _did _have some characteristics typical to the Romans. _

"Harry?"

_The other villagers were beginning to approach the little family unit, gasping with awe and appreciation when it was passed on to them what had just happened. _

"Harry!"

_A clan-leader, by the look of his walk and talk, had arrived and made an odd sign in the boy's direction. It looked like a sort of recognition of honour of sorts, but Harry's vision was beginning to blur and it was getting a little hard distinguishing faces. _

"He's waking up!"

Harry's eyes fluttered open and it took him a moment to orientate himself. He was lying on the longest sofa in the Weasley's living room, a cushion had been placed under his head, and his feet were being held up by someone. It was then, that he suddenly became aware of the spiking pain at the back of his head.

Groaning, he raised his hand to the back of his head. It was wet. Groaning again, Harry examined his fingers — they were tainted with his blood.

"Oh, Harry! We were so worried!" Exclaimed Hermione - she was kneeling next to him and holding his left hand. Ron was holding his legs up. Mrs Weasley was fluttering about him, casting a spell on his head to heal the wound and simultaneously arranging the pillow.

"Honestly, Harry? What were you thinking, sitting up there?" Mrs Weasley cried as she gently brushed his hair out of his face. "You are more of a danger to yourself than You-Know-Who!"

Two twin laughs were heard from the corner of the room and upon glancing in their direction they each gave an identical wave. George winked at Harry.

Harry smiled. Their concern was heartwarming, if a little excessive. "I'm alright. Honestly."

He jerked his feet out of Ron's grip and and they dropped on the couch.

"Mrs Weasley already healed your skull, but you still have a concussion." Hermione said quietly, letting go off of his hand and standing up. Ron patted his shoulder.

"Yeah, we were all pretty worried. Mum even wanted to get you to St Mungo's."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"You cracked your skull." Ginny, who was leaning against an armchair with her arms crossed, said in a rather blunt tone. Harry winced.

"But I'm fine now. See, I can stand up." To prove his point, Harry stood up only to feel a wave of nausea hit him. He fell back down on the sofa and grimaced.

"Ok. Maybe not so fine."

"Oh, Merlin's beard, you're so stubborn!" Ginny exclaimed and vanished up the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley, who had disappeared a few moments ago, returned, carrying two vials clutched in her hand, in the other, she carried a cup of freshly made tea.

.

It was a few nights later - the night before they were supposed to go back to Hogwarts, when it happened again.

He had been in bed, when suddenly an odd squashing feeling, which sort of resembled apparition, had engulfed him.

_This time, he was standing on a road leading up to a large, medieval castle. It felt and looked very familiar as though he had seen it somewhere else. Actually, it looked quite a lot like Hogwarts, except that the gothic turrets were missing. _

_Harry instinctually tried to slide between people rushing to the castle, but found after a few moments that he was just like a ghost in the sense that people seemed to walk straight through them. Looking around, Harry was amazed at how much hygiene and style had changed over the years. It was at that moment - while he was ogling the peasants around him, that he caught sight of a boy his age. _

_He had stopped walking and was staring up at the castle, transfixed. A small smile played on his lips and as Harry caught sight of his emerald eyes, he realised with shock that it was the same boy he had seen in his first vision. The boy - young man now - was of medium height, but his lean body made him look taller than he was. _

_A tunic - one similar to the one he had worn in his childhood - was hanging loosely over his body. He was walking alongside a few other similarly-dressed young men. They were pushing each other around, and laughing joyfully._

_"__Oi! Don't just stand there!" A nasty voice said, and suddenly the wizard was shoved to the ground. The large woman in question stumbled past him, carrying a large haystack on her shoulders. The young man's yes narrowed._

_Harry watched, transfixed, as the laces of her leather boots tied themselves together and she toppled to the ground. Wandless magic! This wasn't just accidental magic - not anymore… this was consciously-done wandless magic!_

_"__Oi! Emrys, you promised your mother you wouldn't cast magic outside of the clan! Especially not in Camelot — it's punishable by law here!" one of the young men whispered to the boy who Harry now knew to call Emrys. _

_"__And you promised your father you wouldn't drink until you were sixteen summers old," Emrys pointed out with a sly smile as his gaze rested on the leather flask that the other boy was occasionally sipping some sort of beverage from. He didn't even have the grace to look ashamed. _

_Emrys smiled in delight and they all continued making their way up to the castle. _

_._

Late in the afternoon the next day, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione lined up beside the kitchen fire to return to Hogwarts. The Ministry had arranged this one-off connection to the Floo Network to return students quickly and safely to the school. Only Mrs Weasley was there to say goodbye, as Mr Weasley, Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur were all at work.

Mrs Weasley dissolved into tears at the moment of parting. Admittedly, it took very little to set her off lately; she had been crying on and off ever since Percy had stormed from the house on Christmas Day with his glasses splattered with mashed parsnip (for which Fred, George and Ginny all claimed credit).

"Don't cry, mum," said Ginny, patter her on the back as Mrs Weasley sobbed into her shoulder. "It's ok…"

"Yeah, don't worry about us," said Ron, blushing as his mother placed a wet kiss upon his cheek. "Or Percy. He's such a prat, it's not really a loss, is it?"

Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever as she enfolded Harry in her arms.

"Promise you'll look after yourself… stay out of trouble and don't go falling out of any Quidditch hoops…"

"I always do stay out of trouble, Mrs Weasley," said Harry with a grin, "I like a quiet life, you know me."

She gave a watery chuckle, hugged Hermione, whispered something into her ear and stepped back.

"Be good, then, all of you…"

Harry stepped into the emerald fire and shouted, "Hogwarts, McGonagall's office!" He had one last fleeting view of the Weasley's kitchen and Mrs Weasley's tearful face before the flames engulfed him; spinning very fast, he caught blurred glimpses of other wizarding rooms, which were whipped out of sight before he could get a proper look; then he was slowing down, finally stopping squarely in the fireplace in Professor McGonagall's office. She barely glanced up from her work as he clambered out over the grate.

"Evening, Potter. Try not to get too much ash on the carpet."

"Of course not, professor."

Harry straightened his glasses and flattened his hair as Ron came spinning into view, quickly followed by Ginny and Hermione. When they had all arrived through the fireplace, they set off to their common room.

They were about to enter the Tower when Harry's biggest fan - Colin Creevey - rushed up the stairs towards them. "Harry!" He exclaimed as he reached the group. Hermione hid her amused smile behind a hand and murmuring the password to the Fat Lady (who looked a little hungover), entered the common room with Ginny.

Colin rummaged in his pocket for a moment, hand going in much deeper than it was supposed to, and pulled out a scroll of parchment with Dumbledore's handwriting on it.

"Here!" He said, an excited expression on his face. "Dumbledore asked me to give this to you."

Harry thanked him and the boy entered the common room before the portrait closed.

"Great," said Harry, unrolling the scroll at once to discover that his next lesson with Dumbledore was scheduled for the following Friday. "I'm meeting him Friday night."

Before Ron could answer, the portrait opened again (the Fat Lady rolled her eyes and harrumphed, but opened nevertheless) and Lavender hurtled herself at Ron, snogging him quite loudly. "Won-Won!" She exclaimed, dragging him to one of the armchairs. Harry sniggered and entered the room as well, making a beeline to the sixth year boys' dormitory.

.

History of Magic was as boring as ever, but as this was the new term and Harry had promised Hermione that he would do better after the New Year, he forced his eyes to stay open and his quill to stay in his hand.

He tried note taking, but instead started drawing doodles. After a while, he realised they were all Medieval-era themed. Hermione kept giving him 'the _look'_ but she had already given up hope on Ron who was snoring away, which meant that Harry was now her main focus.

Grinding his teeth, Harry forced his sleep-deprived mind to stay awake. The visions were now happening every night and were seriously disturbing his sleep. He was sick of them so he refused to fall asleep, and when he did, he saw only the visions, which exhausted him.

Professor Binns had mentioned the Druids once or twice during his time at Hogwarts and the impression that he got, was that they had been a very secret sort of society, within an already very secret wizarding society. They served one mistress, Magic. It seemed that Emrys, who he kept seeing win his visions, was a Druid and had been born in a Druid clan. He occasionally went travelled to non-magical areas, and always seemed to get into trouble the moment he did that.

He briefly considered going to Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey about his visions, but then decided against it. He had started seeing them after he'd hit his head. If he ever mentioned what had happened, he would instantly be sent to St Mungo's ward for the insane, or at least be confined to the infirmary until a solution was found.

He felt a pencil hit his head, and glancing around, he noted that everyone seemed to be asleep so he turned to Hermione and found her staring at him with steely eyes. In her hand she held another yellow pencil. Had she magically multiplied them?

Harry held up his hands in surrender, then picked up his quill and tried to concentrate on Professor Binns' lecture.

"…Camelot had a very formidable wall…" Harry straightened in his seat as he heard that name. He leaned forwards and stared at the teacher in surprise. He had heard that name countless of times in his visions. Emrys even now resided in Camelot, or at least in a small hamlet very close to it, away from the Druids, although he occasionally visited them.

"…and nothing could get through it. The few creatures and armies that did, found themselves confronted with the Knights of Camelot and their inner circle - the Knights of the Round Table."

Harry stared at the ghost, he hadn't known of the Knights of the Camelot! They hadn't come up in his visions yet!

"…And of course, their leader King Arthur." Harry frowned. As far as he knew, Camelot was currently ruled (in his visions) by the ruthless King Uther - and he didn't have a son… not even a wife. Harry sighed in disappointment. Whatever historical event Binns was talking about had probably happened later on in Camelot's history.

"…and at their side, stood the Warlock Merlin."

Harry blinked. Of course! Hadn't he once heard his first grade teacher reciting this story? As a child he hadn't been read to very much - well, only if one counted the few times he had managed to sneak under Dudley's bed before Petunia told him his bedtime story. He didn't know that many and always found himself lost whenever Hermione named a 'famous' character from some story or other.

Glancing at Hermione, he saw that she had already written eleven inches worth of notes. Looking down at his own parchment, Harry winced. He only had two or three lines of text and about ten inches of doodles.

"…Merlin, also known as Emrys…"

His voice seemed to disappear. Suddenly, the only thing Harry could hear, was the name he has just uttered. It wasn't possible, was it? How? Why? Harry gulped nervously, trying to refrain from shouting in shock. How had this happened. Was Emrys a common name? Was it just a coincidence that he was having visions from Emrys' life? Was _his_ Emrys a different Emrys?

He was brought back to the classroom when he felt Hermione tap his forearm. His gaze fell upon her parchment whereupon he saw the words Camelot, Merlin, Emrys and Arthur.

No, _his_ Emrys and _Merlin_ were the same person.

* * *

Till next Saturday! :)


	2. Chapter 2

I know I promised Saturdays, but I was insanely busy urban sketching yesterday (yes, I have other interests other than writing). As I'm on holidays now, I don't even really know the day of the week. In any case, here you go, chapter 2

* * *

The first Thursday of the new term brought with itself the first apparition lesson. Naturally, most of the sixth years, who were turning seventeen before the 31st of August and had paid the twelve galleon fee to be able to attend the lessons.

Harry personally, didn't feel that same unquenchable curiosity most of his classmates felt. As he had already apparated twice before - once with Dumbledore earlier in the summer and once as a little child - and had felt that apparition was the most uncomfortable of wizarding travel, he didn't really _want _to know how to apparate. Nevertheless, the fact that he had in fact apparated once before travelled quickly down the Hogwarts social grapevine and soon he found himself bombarded with requests to describe the sensation.

Many walked away, disappointed, when Harry explained to them that apparition was actually quite uncomfortable and made one feel as if one was being pushed through a thin, rubber tube. Harry actually preferred flying much more. Their spirits were, however not dampened as Harry soon saw them almost _skipping _to the Great Hall, where the lessons were to take place.

No one really knew what these apparition lessons would be like, or who would be teaching them, therefore they were all quite surprised, when upon entering the Great Hall, they found that the house tables had disappeared, and instead the whole Hall was filled with… hoops of varying colours. It reminded Harry of his sports lessons in his muggle school.

"Good afternoon," said the Ministry Apparition Instructor - a thin, frail, old man - when all the students had arrived and the Heads of House had called for silence. "My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry Apparition Instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to prepare you for your Apparition test in this time, by which time, many of you may be ready to take your test," Twycross said in monotone as if he had recited this speech many, many times.

"As you may know," he continued, "It is usually impossible to Apparate or Disparate within Hogwarts. The Headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for one hour, so as to enable you to practice. May I emphasise that you will not be able to appraise outside the walls of this Hall, and that you would be unwise to try. I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you…"

The lesson continued, but Harry could not find it within himself to take part. He vaguely heard the instructor explain the three main parts to apparition - the three 'Ds' as he called them. Destination, determination and deliberation. But as Harry concentrated upon the space within the hoop in front of him, he found his mind wandering.

Lately he had been slacking off in lessons. It was getting increasingly hard to concentrate as he had a severe lack of sleep. The fact that Malfoy was still up to something (even now, instead of concentrating on his hoop, he was whispering something to Crabbe), his lack of sleep and the visions were very much destroying his ability to stay concentrated on something.

"One." The Instructor said loudly and Harry's head shot upwards - had he just missed most of the lecture? Harry groaned inwardly - what was he supposed to do then?

"Two." The man said, his voice wavering slightly and Harry found himself wondering whether the instructor was light enough for a gust of wind to blow him right off his feet.

"THREE!"

Harry chuckled inwardly when he saw most of his fellow students spin, and fall. Malfoy fell flat on his face - that alone made his day.

"Never mind, never mind," said Twycross dryly, who did not seem to have expected anything better. "Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions…"

.

That evening, once Harry had finished most of the homework he had been procrastinating for more than a week and was due tomorrow, he settled down in one of the large armchairs in front of the fireplace. Ron slumped down in the armchair in front of him and crunched into a ball so as not to be seen from behind - after all, hair was quite easy to spot.

"I'm hiding from Lavender," he murmured in a miserable tone. Harry laughed.

"Why? Does she want you to wear that _wonderful_ sweater you got for your birthday?" Harry teased. Ron had, in fact received a horrible pink sweater with _Lavender & Won-Won Forever _embroidered right in the middle. This had been a huge source of amusement for the Twins, who had followed Ron around the house attempting to impersonate (and failing) Lavender.

Ron glared at him and Harry chuckled again.

"Harry. It's _pink,_" This set Harry off in another round of giggles. At that moment, Lavender came skipping down from the sixth year girls dorm. She spotted Harry and waved at him rather enthusiastically. Harry smiled back weakly.

"Harry! Have you seen my dear Won-Won?" She called across the large common room. Some students turned away, sniggering. Harry shrugged, glancing at Ron briefly, who huddled deeper into his armchair, so as not to be seen by Lavender.

"Um. I think he went to the Owlery." said Harry, improvising. It would take her a good twenty minutes to go there and back - assuming she didn't skip. She thanked him with a blow-kiss and a smile. Then she left through the portrait.

Harry's giggles turned into full blown laughter.

"Thanks, mate." Ron groaned, then reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a miniature chessboard which he enlarged with a tap of his wand.

"Fancy a game of chess?"

Harry, who had finally managed to quiet down nodded while small giggles intermittently escaped his lips.

"Black or white?"

Harry picked the black figure from one of Ron's outstretched hands.

"Black," Harry muttered. That instant, the figurine jumped out of his hand and took its place on the board. Harry chuckled - the voice activation feature had been added by Hermione who was becoming increasingly better at charms.

Ron grinned, "I love playing white. White always gets to begin first."

"Ah yes," Harry murmured, gazing at the board as Ron exclaimed 'Pawn to E4!'.

"Haven't you heard? White begins, black wins."

Ron scoffed and said rather sarcastically, "Bloody likely."

"Pawn to D6," Harry replied evenly, choosing to concentrate on the game.

Seamus who had been reading the playwitch magazine in the corner raised his eyes to watch them play. It would be amusing to watch Harry loose again… then again - no one had ever won against Ron, so this wasn't exactly uncommon.

"Pawn to D4," Ron said slowly and his white pawn advanced forward while wringing his fist at the black pieces. Harry grinned - he would never tire of wizarding chess.

"Knight to F6." The Black Knight hopped over the other pieces with an open mouth, imitating a war cry.

"Knight to C3." Ron mirrored Harry's action.

"Pawn to G6." Harry leaned backwards, watching as his pawn moved to stand next to his knight. Ron glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"The Pirc defence?" The red-headed boy questioned. Harry nodded and grinned. He wasn't particularly sure how he knew of it, but who was he to deny his subconscious knowledge?

The game continued for quite a while - at some point Harry found himself yawning loudly. His lack of sleep and bad concentration led to him losing the game which was disappointing as this was the longest he had managed to play against Ron.

"Checkmate!" Ron exclaimed finally, pinning him down with his only remaining pieces - a rook, a queen and his king. Harry sighed as he watched his black king drop to his knees and strangle himself.

Seamus, who had fallen asleep long ago jerked upwards. The magazine fell to the floor revealing the contents - two topless women drinking butterbeer. Seamus blushed, grabbed his magazine and rushed up the stairs.

.

_Harry found himself oddly excited to watch the next memory. After all… he now knew that this was THE Emrys. This was Merlin. The only thing that continued to irk him was why _he _was experiencing these memories. Why did _he _see them? _

_Shaking his head to clear his mind, Harry looked around and was surprised to find that he wasn't experiencing a memory from within the walls of Camelot. Indeed not - he was in a forest. The ground was covered with dirt and leaves, leading him to believe that it was Autumn. Harry could barely see the sun - the leaves were so dense!_

_However, patterns of light could be seen on the ground, dancing as the trees waved back and forth. _

_"__Emrys!" Shouted a voice and Harry spun, trying to find the source. It was a fruitless search as it seemed to have come from all around him. Suddenly a figure appeared out of nowhere, eyes flashing gold. Harry raised his eyebrows - concealment charm?_

_Emrys, or rather, Merlin looked older than he had in previous memories. He seemed to be in his mid or early thirties. His angular face was adorned by a thick, dark beard which was trimmed to precision. His hair was as uncontrollable as ever and longer than Harry had ever seen it. _

_"__Galatea! Only the Druids call me that. My name is Merlin."_

_Harry shuddered slightly, that was proof if he ever saw it. _

_A woman emerged from behind a tree, dressed in dark green robes and carrying a staff. She chuckled merrily, yet there was a sort of seriousness in her eyes that put Harry on edge. She was older than Merlin, her hair had greyed and wrinkles dominated her face. _

_"__Emrys, need I remind you that I am also a Druid — and so is your magic?"_

_"__I don't even live amongst them anymore. I reside in Camelot… King Uther has instructed me to teach his son, Arthur everything and anything, except for magic of course. That is still forbidden."_

_"__So they welcome you with open arms in Camelot. Even knowing that you are a sorcerer?" Galatea asked, eyebrows furrowing. Merlin sighed in answer. Her eyes widened and she briefly stopped walking to stare at him. _

_"__You mean to say they do not know you have Magic?" _

_The man licked his lips anxiously and he bowed his head in shame. Galatea resumed her brisk walk, now muttering angrily under her breath. _

_Merlin sighed in defeat and fell in step with her. They trudged through the forest with determined expressions as though very sure where they were going. Harry trailed behind, staring around in amazement at the ancient forest. _

_"__A prophecy was told ages past. It foretold my birth to the Ealdor clan — it also foretold that I shall be the one to tutor Prince Arthur and then stand at his side once he becomes King. It is my duty, Galatea… can you imagine a land where each witch and wizard, sorcerer and sorceress is accepted? Where we, Druids, live alongside unmagicals?"_

_Galatea shot him a glare. "Those are fanciful ideas only the naive and clueless. That only proves your youth in mind, Emrys." _

_He fell silent, mulling over her comment._

_They finally arrived at a large tree, under which there was a large hole. Harry raised his eyebrows and followed the pair in. _

_They appeared in a magically enchanted and enlarged cottage, much like the little tent that Harry and the Weasleys had lived in during the Quidditch World Cup. In the middle, there was a round fireplace with a kettle standing on a metal platform, around it Galatea had arranged several tables, two of which had small, individual fires and a cauldron. _

_Harry stared in bemusement as Galatea started giving a potions lesson to Merlin. The great Merlin receiving lessons from another Druid! Chuckling, Harry leaned forward, trying to see what they were doing. _

_"…__Emrys. What does my tome say? How should the Moonseed be cut?"_

_Merlin consulted the tome, "Uhm. Diced. It should be diced."_

_"__And what are you doing?"_

_"__Oh. Uh. Chopping. Sorry." Harry grinned, he wasn't the only one who was crap at potions. _

_There was a brief pause, while Merlin continued brewing, chopping, cutting or stirring. Galatea watched him with her beady eyes, assessing him as if for an examination and Harry found himself to be slightly nervous. He hoped Merlin would get the potion right. _

_"__No. No. No!" Galatea cried suddenly, eyes widening in shock and perhaps a little fright. "Never. Never. Ever just _dump _ingredients into a cauldron." Merlin blushed and started to gently put slices of a white root into the potion. Galatea glowered at him and Harry was suddenly struck by how different a person Galatea was when teaching. _

_"__Also - crush the Sopophorous Bean rather than cutting, it releases more juice."_

_Harry laughed at the way Merlin ducked his face and obeyed her. _

_Almost an hour later (after a while, Harry had wandered off, staring at the different things cluttering Galatea's magically enlarged hole under the tree), Galatea announced that the potion was ready and that the next and last potion they would be brewing would be an antidote for a poison. _

_She had mentioned that one of her fellow Druids - a chap named Golpalott - had recently created three rules for potion-making which most of the Druid community now followed. _

_"__Golpalott's Third Law is a law for making antidotes, which says that the antidote for a blended poison — that is, a poison created by mixing several other poisons together — cannot simply be created by finding the antidotes to each separate poison in the blended whole and mixing them together. Instead, the potionmaker must find that single ingredient which, when added to the blended antidotes, transforms them near-alchemically into a combined whole which will counteract the entire blended poison. Simply put, according to this law, a true antidote to a blended poison is more than the sum of its parts." Galatea said quickly, so rapidly that Harry barely understood what she was saying. _

_Merlin looked almost as confused as Harry. He had raised his eyebrows and was staring at her with a look that said 'Are you serious'. Galatea was very serious. In fact, she was so serious, that she took another vial, poured half the dark, dark green blended poison into it, and proceeded to drink it. _

_"__You have half an hour before I die," she rasped out. Galatea smiled challengingly at Merlin and let herself drop to the ground. Both Harry and Merlin stared at her disbelievingly for a few moments, then Merlin gathered his wits and took hold of the flask with the other half of the poison. He sniffed it, put a piece of parchment (which turned green, then black and dissolved), and then poured it into a clean, empty cauldron. _

_"__Wiggenweld poison," he whispered as he gazed into the cauldron. Merlin swallowed, obviously nervous - then started to make the antidote. Harry stared at his every move, wondering what was going to happen. Was he going to make it? Or was Galatea going to die? Oh, he hoped Merlin stayed concentrated?_

_Glancing at her for a moment, Harry saw that she had started convulsing and he gulped. Over twenty minutes had already passed and Merlin was still furiously pouring ingredients into the cauldron. _

_Harry stared as Merlin diced the Fluxweed. When Hermione had been making the polyjuice potion, she had chopped it - he remembered that vividly because she had lectured him and Ron about the proper way to cut Fluxweed. Either Merlin was making a terrible mistake, or he was being inventive like the Half-Blood Prince. _

_However, all his concerns were washed away, as the angry red of the potion turned into a translucent water-like liquid. Harry let out a breath of relief. It seemed Merlin had succeeded._

_Said boy let out a jubilant cry and rushed towards his fallen teacher (who was still convulsing) and tipped the vial back, massaging her throat to make the liquid go down better. _

_Merlin and Harry stared at her for the next five minutes, unsure. Then suddenly, she took a gurgling breath and her eyes fluttered open. She glanced around in surprise, then let out a terrible cough. _

_"__Too much Dandruff," she said with a grin. _

_. _

The next day was a Friday. No. It was _the _Friday. This Friday, he would go up to Dumbledore's office at eight for their third lesson. First, however, Harry would have to suffer through two hours of potions. The fact that the teacher had changed, hadn't lessened his hate for the subject.

That was why on that gloomy, Britishly-rainy day, he made his way down to the dungeons with Ron. Hermione had left before them - she and Ron had had a row about Lavender a few days ago and were now somewhat angry with each other.

"I'm not sure how I got an Exceeds Expectations in Potions." Ron said once they had sat down. Harry shrugged and was about to reply when Slughorn started to call for silence.

"Settle down, settle down, please! Quickly, now, lots of work to get though this afternoon! Golpalott's Third Law… who can tell me what it is?" Almost instantly Hermione raised her hand. Harry's eyes widened - wasn't this what Merlin had covered with Galatea in their last lesson? Slughorn was gazing around the classroom, disappointment clear in his face when he saw that no one other than Hermione had raised their hands.

Then timidly, Harry raised his hand.

"Well of course - Harry!"

"Um," he paused when he saw Hermione staring at him, surprised. "Um. It's a rule which states that if… uh… one wants to make an antidote to a blended poison - a poison with more than two poisons mixed together - one must make an antidote… for the mixture and not find an antidote for each of the poisons _in _the blended poison…" He trailed off somewhat lamely but Slughorn didn't seem to notice. He grinned joyfully and nodded enthusiastically.

"Precisely! Ten points for Gryffindor!"

Harry tuned Slughorn out when he saw Hermione staring at him, her mouth slightly ajar.

"Did the Half-Blood Prince teach you that?" She said a little scathingly. Harry frowned at her.

"I have brains too!" He said indignantly. Hermione, used to being the best in the class, scoffed. Harry rolled his eyes - obviously, she was feeling threatened.

Ron was similarly staring him, his mouth agape.

"What?" Harry said indignantly. Why did everyone think that he was too stupid for potions? He had received an _Exceeds Expectations_ in his OWL - had he not? Ron shrugged and continued doodling over his textbook.

"…And so," finished Slughorn, "I want each of you to come and take one of these vials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don't forget your protective gloves!"

Hermione had left her stool and was halfway towards Slughorn's desk before the rest of the class had realised it was time to move and by the time Harry and Ron returned to the table, she had already tipped the contents of her phial into her cauldron and was kindling a fire underneath it.

"It's a shame that the Prince won't be able to help you much with this, Harry," she said brightly as she straightened up. "No shortcuts or cheats this time!"

Harry sighed - sometimes she could be too competitive. Harry stared at his poison and blinked when he saw it was a dark green colour. Hadn't Merlin's poison been exactly like this? Uncorking it, Harry dropped a piece of parchment into it and was elated to see that it turned green, then black. It was _exactly _the same poison Merlin had had to find a remedy for!

Smirking, Harry got to work.

.

"I don't get it." Hermione said shrewdly after she had swallowed a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "How did you know it was the Wiggenweld poison?! How did you know how to do the antidote?"

Harry shrugged, enjoying his triumph in potions. Granted he'd been good all year, but up until now he had been cheating… this wasn't cheating, was it? He had seen Merlin's memory. It wasn't really cheating.

"I just… studied."

Harry's appetite was gone in anticipation for the lesson with Dumbledore that he was going to have that night. He was a bit anxious. Before the holidays, Dumbledore had requested Harry to get Slughorn's real memory of his meeting with Tom Riddle. Harry hadn't really done that and he only had one hour left till his lesson at eight.

Glancing up at the Head Table, Harry noticed that Slughorn and Snape weren't there. Harry wrinkled his nose, hopefully Snape wasn't in the dungeons with Slughorn - he really needed that memory before the lesson.

"-wonder what the NEWTS exam for potions might be like," Hermione finished. Harry shrugged and threw his left leg over the bench - then his right.

"Right," he said, stretching, "I have to speak with Slughorn before my lesson with Dumbles tonight."

Ron nearly choked on his food at Harry's nickname for the Headmaster. Glancing at the Top Table again, Harry noted that the Headmaster was staring at him with unblinking, twinkling eyes. Had the man cast an eavesdropping charm on them?

"Dumbles." Ron gasped out, grinning. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly but the corners of her mouth had tilted upwards.

"I'll see you tonight." Harry said with a smile, and left for the Dungeons.

.

The door to the Potions Classroom P1 was open, and Harry glanced inside, only to see Slughorn grading papers at the desk at the front.

"Harry!" He exclaimed, beaming, when he caught sight of said boy. "What a pleasure, what a pleasure. Come in my boy!" Harry entered the room hesitantly. He gently stepped around a puddle of acid.

"Professor…" Harry started haltingly. "Ehm… I've been trying to get know Voldemort more intimately," he mentally slapped his forehead for his wording. Slughorn didn't say anything, but at the mention of _his_ name grew a bit wary. "And well, Dumbledore's been helping me. But you see… we hit a wall when we watched the memory about Horcruxes."

Slughorn's face grew pale, and he stared at Harry in the kind of way one stares at a terrifying enemy. Harry supposed that was the way he had stared at Snape as a little child.

"Yes, of course," said Slughorn quietly, dabbing at his white and suddenly sweaty face. "Of course… well, if you've seen that memory, Harry, you'll know that I don't know anything - _anything _\- about Horcruxes."

Harry gulped nervously and saw suddenly that Slughorn had stood up and was chucking papers into his dragonskin briefcase.

"Professor," he said suddenly, as if some exterior force was controlling his mouth. It seemed to be so, for his voice was grave, serious and full of power. Slughorn seemed to note the change too, because his head snapped up, and he stared at Harry, eyes wide in something akin to fear and awe.

"Professor," Harry repeated a little less forcefully, "This might be our last chance. This might be the key to defeating Voldemort…" He trailed off and saw suddenly that Slughorn was frozen in indecision.

"M'boy… I can't… I simply can't." The potion's master gave him a terrified grimace, grabbed a book from the top of his desk and disappeared into his back office, leaving an exasperated Merlin standing in the middle of the classroom.

* * *

So far, pretty close to canon. This will change soon bwahaha


	3. Chapter 3

**Apologies for the long hiatus. Uni. This chapter - along with fourteen more - was hidden in my files and I completely forgot that it existed (also the story)...! Hope people are still reading this... if not, I'll still post the chapters I DO have, because why not post 60k words no one has ever read?**

**My profile says I have quit fanfiction - and I have, but I decided to finish posting everything I have for this and other stories... **

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His meeting with Dumbledore had been surprisingly uneventful… well other than the fact that he had finally learned what Horcruxes were and that Tom Riddle's Diary and the Ring had already been destroyed. That left five Horcruxes.

However, Dumbledore _had _hinted that for their next lesson, they would be doing something else. Well, they would still look at memories… but they would also be doing something else. This left Harry oddly excited and he sincerely hoped that Dumbledore would finally see it important to teach him other things… such as duelling.

They had started duelling in Defence Against the Dark Arts but his favourite subject wasn't so brilliant when the teacher teaching it absolutely hated him - and those feelings were reciprocated. He had begun to enjoy potions quite a bit and had finally begun to learn a great deal from his visions of Merlin… as it turned out, the man had become a great potioneer later in life.

So far, he'd duelled both Hermione and Ron and had won more often then not - but magic was starting to fail him. He was so completely exhausted that people had begun to notice. Hermione remarked upon it daily and even Ron had suggested him to go to the infirmary. During their last lesson (which had been almost three weeks ago), even Dumbledore had asked Harry whether everything was alright.

Harry had naturally replied that everything was peachy.

January rolled into February and suddenly Harry found himself under the pressure of captaining his Quidditch team. Quidditch season had just begun, and while teams had been chosen in October, and one game between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had been played, the season properly began in February, when it wasn't as cold.

Cormac McLaggen was an admittedly good Quidditch player, but his cocky attitude and arrogance made Harry dislike him. And it was for that precise reason that Harry had started avoiding him. That boy had started searching Harry in the hallways between classes, during lunch - even in the Owlery! - all because he wanted a spot on the team. A spot which Ron had '_rightfully'_ received during the tryouts.

And no matter how many times Harry had told him to _piss off, _the boy kept coming back. He even came to the training sessions!

"Harry, come on! We'll be late!" Ron exclaimed, tugging on his cloak. Harry stumbled along - oh… Snape wasn't going to be happy at their tardiness.

As they charged into the classroom, Harry's eyes instantly found the mechanical clock hanging behind the teacher's desk, only to see that they were five minutes late. Harry's gaze then fell to the man standing directly under the clock.

"Ten points from Gryffindor…" Snape said nastily, a smirk playing around his lips. Ron opened his mouth to protest.

"…From each of you." Snape allowed himself another smirk, before his gaze hardened. "Sit down."

Harry, who had been clutching his leather messenger bag to his chest while running, let it drop on the desk he shared with Ron. Hermione, who was only a desk away and was sitting with a very unhappy Lavender, shot them a disapproving glance.

"Turn to page 453. And read the first three pages on the best silent curses for duelling. I do hope," the tone of his voice said otherwise, "That you have been practicing silent casting. From now on, duels shall only be preformed with silently casted spells."

Most of the class groaned as one. Hermione straightened in her chair - she had become quite proficient. Harry, who had been slowly learning snippets of things from his visions, now had a vague idea on how to do it best, but even then, Merlin used Duridic magic, which seemed leagues more complicated than what Harry was used to. Then again, it seemed from his visions that even then, two sorts of magic-practitioners had existed. One, the Druids, who used magic in connection to the Earth and two, the wizards and witches, who used magic only from their own core.

"Begin." His voice was quiet, but demanding and almost instantly everyone's heads turned down to their open textbooks. Harry rolled his eyes at their fear of Snape.

Ten minutes later, the class had arranged themselves into two loose rows to practice silent casting while duelling. Harry ended up standing across Hermione. Soon, spells were flying back and forth. Surprisingly, many students had managed to get a hang of it but there was still a lot of sneaky whispering going on.

Hermione and Harry were trading spells back and forth at a lazy pace. Most teachers would have given them at least twenty points at their ability to consistently cast so many spells silently and in such quick succession. Half the lesson had gone by, when Harry felt a huge wave of exhaustion crash against him and yawned. It was quite unlucky that at that very moment, the overgrown bat had been passing them.

Snape glowered at him.

"Evidently, Granger isn't much of a challenge for you, Potter." He said it in a way that Harry knew it wasn't a compliment - for either Hermione or him.

"Mister Malfoy!" The blonde boy at the other end of the classroom looked up and flicked his wrist casually. Almost instantly, Crabbe was thrown to the floor, petrified. Malfoy sauntered over to their end, his lips turned up in a cocky smirk.

"Yes, Professor Snape?" Snape shot a glance at the petrified Crabbe and nodded.

"Ten points to Slytherin, Mister Malfoy."

"For what? For walking over?" Harry heard Ron (who was having a hard time casting silent curses at Neville) mutter. Snape evidently heard it too because his head snapped towards him.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for insulting a fellow student, Mr Weasley."

Ron turned away, frowning.

"Mister Malfoy and Potter, you will be duelling together from now on. Granger…" He looked disdainfully at Harry's friend. "You will be duelling with someone more befitting of you skill level. Mr Crabbe!" The boy who had been unpetrified by a fellow Slytherin stumbled to them. Hermione barely tired to hide her disgust.

Turning to Malfoy, Harry fell into a relaxed duelling stance. Malfoy settled for a more fancy, tournament-like stance which made him look like a peacock. Harry smirked and when he saw that Snape wasn't around, said: "Why, Malfoy!" As if he had only just noticed him, "Are you trying to impress your dear Pansy?"

Pansy Parkinson who was duelling Daphne Greengrass heard the comment and blushed slightly, before losing her concentration and toppling down when she got hit by a stunning curse.

Malfoy glared at him and threw the first spell. As the red spell - which Harry recognised as a stunner - raced towards him, Harry suddenly thought that apparition could be convenient in a situation like this.

Instead, he spun out of the way, pivoted and made a complicated motion with his wrist. It was only an Aqua Eructo charm, but the complicated motion would disarm Malfoy, figuratively speaking of course.

It did.

A confused expression appeared on his face, before he was covered with a jet of water. With a flick of his wrist, a shield appeared between them. Harry cancelled the spell, and recognising the spell as a simple _protego_, Harry flicked his wand again, and stopped himself from shouting _avis_. Instead, he focused on his _desire _to conjour birds.

A flock of birds streamed out of his wand and Harry did the wand movement for the _oppugno_ jinx. Almost instantly, the flock of birds shot at Malfoy effectively cutting through the shield. _Protego_ was a shield designed only for magical attacks.

Malfoy hurriedly raised a wall of marble and the birds ended up breaking their skulls against it. He vanished the birds and waved his wand again. A blue jet of light sped towards Harry.

And back and forth they went, casting spells quickly and skilfully. Harry begrudgingly admitted that Snape had been right to put them against each other. He _wanted _to win against Malfoy. He _needed _to and thusly wasn't afraid to cast more powerful and skilful spells.

They were so caught up in their duel that they didn't notice how most students had turned to stare at the obviously most skilled duellers of the class. Seamus and Dean were openly staring at them. Apart from the two duellers, the only movement to be seen seemed to be the eyes that watched spells going back and forth so quickly that it was hard to see who had really cast which spell.

The duel finally ended when Harry send a sequence of five spells, racing after one another, charged with so much power, that after the third, Malfoy's shield collapsed and he was hit by the remaining two spells. A stunner and a _petrificus totalus._

Harry stood over Malfoy, smirking at his victory. Malfoy had gotten better during the break. Bellatrix - who had recently been broken out of Azkaban - had probably been teaching him. Harry watched impassively as the nearest Slytherin cast a reviving spell on Malfoy.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Potter," Snape finally said snidely, breaking the silence. "For most obviously cheating. I said only curses. _Avis _is a conjuration and _oppugno _is a jinx."

He paused for a moment, no doubt enjoying the sight of a fuming Harry. "Homework: eleven inch essay on silent casting. Disadvantages and advantages. Dismissed."

The bell rang and Harry wasted no time in leaving as quickly as possible. Every minute with the bastard was another minute of wasted life.

.

February rolled into March with a change in weather. The snow disappeared, and the Giant Lake melted once more. It became even windier and rainier and to general indignation, a sign went up on all common room noticeboards that the next trip into Hogsmeade had been cancelled. Ron was furious.

"It was on my birthday!" He said, "I was looking forward to that!"

"Not a big surprise, though, is it?" Harry had murmured, "not after what happened to Katie."

After touching that cursed necklace on the way to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, Katie had been so severely injured that she had been transported to St. Mungo's.

"But now all I've got to look forward to is stupid apparition!" said Ron, "big birthday treat."

That night (the night before Ron's birthday) after dinner, Hermione finally cornered Harry. They had been on their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, when Ron, who was still grumpy about the cancelled Hogsmeade trip and was seeking for something to up his spirits, had decided to join Seamus and Dean who were having a boisterous conversation about Quidditch.

Hermione and Harry were left alone, standing near the staircase leading to the fourth floor. Harry sighed in a mockingly-exasperated way as he stared after Ron, then shaking his head said, "They grow up so fast, don't they?"

Hermione cracked a smile, but it seemed a little fake. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at Harry in concern. The boy in question could see himself reflected in her eyes - and he admitted (though not aloud) that there _was _a source for concern. After two or three months with only a few hours of sleep night, his boy had finally begun to show his weakness.

His hair was frail and his skin sickly pale. His eyes were tired and defeated and the dark bags under said emerald eyes only added onto that. He slouched, and dragged his feet behind him. He was constantly lethargic and staying awake in class had become a daily struggle.

"Harry-" she started in an uncertain voice.

"Yeah, I know. I look like shit."

"We're all worried about you." She continued as if Harry had never interrupted her. "You barely eat, you wake up in the mornings looking more tired than the night before, you fall asleep everywhere - even during lessons!"

Harry sighed in response. She took that as a sign that she could continue.

"Harry, you need help," she placed an arm on his shoulder. "Is it V-Voldemort?"

"No… I stopped seeing visions from him in the summer when he presumably found out about the connection. He's been using _occlumency_ against me."

Hermione bit her lip. "Nightmares?" Harry knew she was referring to Sirius and he shook his head.

"No… I've been uh… having visions."

Her bemusement was clear. "B-but you just said-"

He shook his head. "No. Not from _him._" Hermione looked, if possible, even more confused. He tried to elaborate.

"I don't know…" he trailed off a portrait, hanging above Hermione's head caught his eye. It was a picture of a man - no scratch that - _very old _man. He stood motionless, but his eyebrow was raised and he was staring at Harry intensely. His long beard reached his belt, and was tucked in so that it didn't flap around in the wind. His snowy white hair reached his shoulders, framing his angular, yet quite wrinkled features.

His eyes were kind and a pale grey. It only took Harry a few seconds to recognise him: he knew those eyes. He knew those angular features. And he most definitively knew that raised eyebrow.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," he uttered quietly. Merlin's eyes twinkled as he stared back down. Hermione, having heard his comment, followed his stare. She frowned.

"Why - who is that?"

"Uhm. No one. I saw that picture in a textbook. Look, just come with me."

He grabbed the sleeve of her cloak and pulled her into a nearby, empty classroom. Then, with a flick of his wand, the lights turned on. He leaned against a desk and took a deep breath as he tried to gather his wits.

"Look. Hermione, I've been having visions. Not from Voldemort…" he paused and stared at her quite seriously. "I think I'm seeing Merlin's memories."

Hermione blinked in surprise and then started giggling. Her tense shoulders relaxed somewhat.

"Oh, Merlin! Harry, I thought you were going to say you were having some sort of terrible visions of the war."

Harry stared back. Did she think it was all a joke? Did she think he had made it all up? Seeing his serious expression, she calmed herself when she realised he was being serious.

"How do you know it's him?"

"Maybe because people call him Merlin - and the Druids call him Emrys?" Harry said dryly. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"You're serious about this?"

Harry started massaging the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. I've been seeing these visions since I hit my head at the Burrow… Hermione…" He hesitated and then continued in a slightly broken voice. "I think I'm going mad."

Hermione put a hand on his in a comforting manner.

"We'll figure it out, yeah? I don't doubt the library has _something _on the topic."

Harry cracked a smile, stood up, opened the door and allowed Hermione to walk out first. Frankly, it was amazing that she hadn't instantly told him to go to Dumbledore.

"Although…" she contemplated, "you _should _probably go to Dumbledore too…"

.

It was Ron's birthday and Harry was spending it in the library. He felt slightly guilty about it - but then again, Lavender had been stuck at his side all day making it impossible for either Hermione or Harry to speak to him. _And _they seemed to be snogging the entire time.

Harry sighed as he closed yet another dusty tome, he yawned and decided that was enough for the night. He would return tomorrow to find more information about the visions and to see whether someone else had ever experienced something similar.

"You should be going to sleep," said Termeritus Shanks from his portrait hanging near the study area. He loved giving students advice. The only other student - a Hufflepuff - in the library scoffed and went back to studying. Harry sighed and waved his wand. Almost instantly, all of the books he had been reading flew back to their correct places - one of them (_A guide to maladies of the Mind) _almost beheaded him, it flew to its shelf so quickly.

Harry was on his way back to the Gryffindor Tower when he heard a loud cough. It was the type of cough that told you a person was demanding their attention, so naturally, Harry raised his head to find the portrait that was commanding his attention.

It was Merlin. The man was smiling at him kindly - a smile which Harry easily recognised.

"You seem quite set on ignoring me."

"Well you seem quite set on plaguing me during my sleep," Harry said dryly. Merlin chuckled.

"Oh yes, I'm aware."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. He didn't even have to demand an explanation, because the portrait of one of the greatest sorcerers of all time continued speaking without being prompted to do so.

"Classrooms and dormitories have portraits and we painted folk, can travel between them."

Harry almost banged his head against the wall. Now Dumbledore and the rest of the staff and all of the portraits were going to know. Seeing his mortified expression Merlin gave him a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, I've already given out word to the portraits to not give out any information regarding you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You can do that? Why do the portraits listen to _you_?"

"Well, I'm Merlin," he said chuckling. Harry wrinkled his nose, the man had become a little arrogant over the years.

"Thank you, I suppose," Harry said hesitantly. He knew that the portraits were like spies in a way. It was relieving to find that one of them was on his side.

"Of course I'm on your side," the portrait said. Harry actually jumped in surprise — had the portrait somehow read his mind?

"No, no, I don't have the power to read your mind." Merlin rolled his eyes as he spoke. "I'm just a portrait. But I _do _know how you think."

"How _I_ think…? How could you possibly know what I would think at any given moment if you weren't reading my mind?" Again, a frown crossed Harry's face.

"Alas, I thought it was obvious!" Merlin exclaimed. He was staring down at Harry with slightly narrowed eyes in the same way that Hermione looked at Ron when he was taking an inordinately long time to grasp some sort of theoretical magical concept.

"I'm you!" Merlin finally said when Harry gave no reaction.

The words took a moment to register in Harry's mind, but when they did, he stumbled back and almost toppled over when he hit the railing of one of the enormous Hogwarts staircases.

"W-w-what?" He muttered under his breath.

But simultaneously everything clicked into place as he fully realised the meaning of those words. He wasn't seeing Merlin's visions… he was seeing memories!

"You're my reincarnation. My God, I thought this was obvious?" Merlin explained jovially. Harry blinked. His mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed harshly, and he felt his stomach begin to churn in a most uncomfortable way.

No, he didn't believe this portrait. How was he to even know for sure that this was Merlin? Maybe it was some portrait just messing with him. No, he needed to clear his head. He spun on his heel and ran off, not really caring where to. Merlin's voice called out to him, but by the time that Harry slowed to a calmer pace, he was far away not to understand a word of the shouts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rereading this story that I wrote when I was ca. 16 and then rewrote at ca. 19, made me wince more than once. God, I was such a snotty kid. I kept trying to prove that my English was so fantastic by using complex sentence structures and weird words like countenance instead of _face_. Why oh why. Also descriptions - they sound so typically fan fiction cliched. ew. In any case, I'm not really technically editing these chapters from when I rewrote them at 19, but I _am _switching some words out some words that just... sound so annoyingly brat-ish. God, I could be Malfoy. **

**I used to answer reviews, but now I can't sorry; I honestly just do not have the time anymore. Ah, now I understand why so many people write do-over fics...**

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By the time Harry had managed to calm down, night had fallen and the stars were shining brightly. The castle doors were already closed, leading Harry to believe that it was already past ten, so instead, he made his way to the Whomping Willow. Freezing it with a spell that suddenly came to mind but couldn't remember learning, Harry slipped into the hole and took the passage on the left - the one leading to the castle.

And by the time that he reached the common room, it was already past eleven nevertheless it was quit full with students. After all, they had all weekend to sleep in. Neither Ron nor Hermione were to be seen so Harry made his way up to his dorm, ignoring Parvarti Patil and Seamus Finnegan who were singing drunken ballads and beckoning him to come and join them.

He found the dorm empty, save for Ron who was laying spread-eagled on his bed, covered with presents he had received for his birthday. He was staring up at the ceiling of his four poster bed with a blissful expression and glancing at the same spot, Harry noticed a crudely drawn picture of a blonde girl in Gryffindor robes, tacked onto the underside of the wooden four poster.

Harry sniggered at Ron and suddenly felt disappointed that he didn't have a muggle camera.

Taking off his robe, he changed into a pair of loose-fitting trousers and a t-shirt. He heard a happy giggle and turned back to Ron.

"Ehm… Ron, are you alright?"

The redheaded boy snorted and then continued giggling.

"She's sooo prrrrety," He slurred, rolling the 'r'. Harry raised an eyebrow - Ron drunk? The boy could drink a barrel of Firewhiskey and not get drunk.

"Who's pretty?" said Harry, humouring him.

"You _know _who," Ron said sharply, as if insulted that Harry didn't know the mystery person. For one horrified moment, Harry thought he meant Voldemort.

"Uhm… Hermione?"

"No, silly - Romilda Vane!" He giggled again. Harry blinked. Had Ron ingested a love potion or something? Then suddenly, Harry's eyes fell on the carton with the cauldron chocolate cakes that Romilda Vane had gifted him for Valentine's day.

"Oh, shit."

"How about we go get her?" Ron instantly sat up which resulted him in hitting his head rather harshly on one of the posts of his four poster head.

"Yes! Then I can tell her how much I looooovre her!"

Harry helped him up and patted him on the back. "Yes, we can invite her to Hogsmeade. Do you think she would like that?"

Ron giggled again and spun happily, imitating a ballerina. It took them a while to get to Slughorn's office - for that was who Harry was trying to get Ron to. They had to stop every few minutes so that Ron could recite and practice a sonnet for her. Eventually he settled for singing a song to her and spent the remaining few minutes of their trip singing love songs by the Weird Sisters.

"Yes?" Slughorn said as he opened the door after Harry had knocked on it rather harshly. The potions master examined Harry and Ron (who was staring dreamily into the distance and murmuring something about love) critically.

"Professor, I'm really sorry to disturb you so late, but Ron's swallowed cauldron cakes laced with a love potion… could you make an antidote - I'm afraid it's not the same as making an antidote in class… I just don't want to harm my friend. And it's his birthday…" Slughorn scrutinised him as if wondering whether Harry was being sincere.

"Hairy!" Harry turned to Ron - had he just said his name with an american accent? "I _need _to see her! She is my life, my desire, my love!"

Slughorn turned to Ron and then back at Harry, then he swung the door open. His professional curiosity was now getting the better of him.

"Very well.. Come on in. I'll whip up something. Do you know whether the potion was within date?"

He addressed the question at Harry as Ron was in no position to answer. He however heard the word 'date'. "Ooooh yes! I should take her out on a date! Do you think she'd like that, Hairy?"

Harry grinned in amusement and turned to Slughorn.

"Potions strengthen the longer they are kept right?"

Slughorn chuckled. "Yes, they do. Five points to Gryffindor!"

"Well… no, I think the cauldron cakes are about a month old."

"Ah, well, that certainly explains your friends extreme state."

Harry and Ron waited while Slughorn threw different ingredients to a cauldron with simmering water. It was fascinating to watch - perhaps not as fascinating as Galatea's lessons with Merlin but- Harry forced his mind to think about something else. He didn't want to think about that _now. _

"All done!" Slughorn exclaimed after a quarter of an hour. "Here you are, Ralph!"

"It's Ron, Ron Weasley. That's his name," Harry said with a frown. Slughorn didn't know his name yet?

"Will this make her love me?" he said with a dreamy voice - one usually associated with Trelawney.

"Yes - she will forever sing your praises," Slughorn said smoothly. Harry eyed him curiously, having previously seen none of this slyness.

"Drink up!" Slughorn said, urging him on. Ron grabbed the vial a little clumsily and drowned the contents. Almost instantly, his expression became sour.

"Oh, Merlin's saggy left buttock!" Harry and Slughorn both shot him disapproving glances as his choice of words. Harry mainly because he now felt a vague, budding loyalty to Merlin.

"Did I really do all that?" The question wasn't really directed at anyone but Harry laughed and nodded anyway. He patted Ron's shoulder, happy to have the normal him back.

"Thank you very much professor Slughorn."

"Not to mention, not to mention, my dear boy," said Slughorn, waving his hand. Ron slumped into a nearby armchair.

"A pick-me-up - that's what he needs!" Slughorn exclaimed, stumbling over to his liquor cabinet. He pulled out a few bottles, frowning at each of them until he he pulled a bottle filled with amber liquid.

"Ah! Perfect… meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas…" He shrugged, "…Oh well, he can't miss what he never had. Besides, we _do _need to celebrate… Mr Weasley's birthday! Seventeen! I remember when I turned seventeen…"

Slughorn rambled off and Harry tuned him out, like he generally did during class. Nevertheless, he accepted a tumbler with the amber liquid. It smelt odd… and Harry remembered smelling that somewhere - that scent of… asphodel leaf? He remembered smelling it in one of Merlin's potions. Galagea had forced Merlin to memorise the smell. Asphodel leaf was a very useful potions ingredient but if used incorrectly, it could be very, very poisonous.

Eyes widening in alarm, Harry's hand shot forwards and knocked Ron's tumbler out of his hands. Slughorn let out a shout of surprise.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ignoring his friend, Harry shoved Slughorn's glass to his nose.

"Asphodel leaf," Harry murmured to the potions master. Said man sniffed his drink before his eyes widened.

"Merlin! It wasn't- I didn't- I didn't poison it!" Slughorn seemed flabbergasted as he stared down at his drink. Harry put a placating hand on his shoulder.

"I know you didn't mean to poison us, sir-"

"Poison? What? What are you talking about Harry?" Asked Ron in a high-pitched voice.

"The leaves of the aconite plant are poisonous. The root on the other hand, can be used in a number of different potions; for example the Wolfsbane potion." Slughorn said in a quiet voice as he swirled the liquid in his tumbler. "I wonder who-"

"The question at the moment is not who poisoned it, but who was the intended target." Harry said slowly. Slughorn paled suddenly.

"I was supposed to give it to Dumbledore-"

"Supposed? Did someone tell you to give it to him?" Harry asked sharply. Slughorn threw his hands in the air.

"No- I don't know-I-I-I think. Merlin I think I was put under the imperius," Slughorn managed to stutter out. Harry stared at him with narrowed eyes, was Slughorn capable of murder? No, no he wasn't. Someone had imperiused him.

"Right then. I shall go inform Professor Dumbledore about this. I was intending to talk to him anyway." Harry said slowly. Slughorn blanched.

"B-but - I didn't slip anything into the drink."

Harry exhaled, annoyed. "Yes, Professor. I know. I still need to inform him that someone is trying to murder him."

Slughorn whimpered quietly at the word 'murder'.

Turning to Ron, Harry raised an eyebrow, "Are you alright, Ron?" The boy nodded weakly, gazing at the spilled drink unblinkingly. "Right. Go back to the common room. Don't stay up."

.

"Someone's trying to kill you, professor." Harry said bluntly, placing the bottle of mead on Dumbledore's desk. Oddly, the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office had sprung aside the moment it had seen Harry storming to the office. Evidently, Dumbledore had been alerted of an intruder because the moment Harry had entered his office, the man himself had stepped through another door wearing his night clothes.

If it had been any other time, Harry would have laughed at the ridiculous night clothes that the Headmaster wore (a blue robe with dancing lemon drops and a matching nightcap).

Dumbledore cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses and sat down at his desk. Harry slumped down in one of the hard chairs across from the Headmaster.

"I am very well aware of the fact, Harry," Dumbledore said in an uncharacteristically serious voice.

"I think it's Malfoy." Dumbledore leaned back into his armchair and regarded harry seriously over his half-moon glasses. "I think Voldemort has ordered him to murder you, professor. It is the only explanation. Lucius Malfoy was broken out of Azkaban earlier this year and Voldemort probably wants Draco Malfoy to prove himself," Harry pressed on. "And Snape's-"

"_Professor _Snape, Harry."

"Yes sir. I think _Professor_ Snape is helping him."

"Thank you for telling me this, Harry, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance."

"Not of great importance?" repeated Harry incredulously. Was the man aware that his blasé reaction to the dangers would lead to more students falling into danger. "Ron was almost poisoned today. If it were not for the fact that Professor Slughorn and I noticed that there was a faint smell of asphodel leaf in the mead, Ron would now be dead. Katie Bell almost died and had to be transferred to St Mungo's for treatment. The person trying to kill you, professor, doesn't care how many other casualties there are. You might think you are all-powerful and that they won't get to you - but this attitude is endangering the students." Harry almost gasped in horror as the last word fell out of his mouth - it was as though someone was manipulating his mouth. He hadn't intended to say that, not like that anyway.

Harry's gaze fell down onto the desk and he winced, wondering what punishment he would receive for his blatant disrespect. He was therefore surprised when he heard a warm chuckle (and a few sniggers from the portraits of past Headmasters who had all been obviously pretending to sleep).

"My dear boy…" Dumbledore said as his chuckle died down and he became serious again. Harry raised his eyes briefly and made eye-contact. He looked apologetic. "I apologise… I do in fact know that the perpetrator is Draco Malfoy but I suspect that there is another reason - another mission that Voldemort has given him."

Harry blinked in surprise, "You're waiting for him to make his move? You want him to show you his - Voldemort's - real motive?"

Dumbledore nodded. Harry leaned back into his uncomfortable chair and rushed a hand through his already messy hair.

"Very well. I apologise for my intrusion and disruption of your sleep," Harry said, standing up.

"Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight, my dear boy. I shall send you a missive in the next few days with the date for our next lesson. Bring a wand with you."

.

_Merlin was duelling with another woman. He looked older now; gone was the baby fat and the innocence he had carried long into his adulthood. He was still lithe and tall, but there was a certain way in which he held himself; it demanded respect. Merlin wasn't as old as the portrait Harry had met - not by a long shot - but he certainly looked like he had already lived half a century. _

_He was duelling a woman about half his age - but just as skilful._

_As she spun to avoid a nasty spell from Merlin, her profile was thrown into sharp relief and suddenly, Harry recognised her from the extensive chocolate frog collection which Ron possessed. It was Morgan Le Fay! This was the legendary duel between her and Merlin!_

_Harry stared with wide eyes at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes. By now, Harry had started loathing Merlin. He didn't want to be him. He just wanted to be a regular wizard. He wanted to be _just Harry. _Accepting that he was the reincarnation of Merlin would only prove that he was in fact _more _than _just Harry_. No matter how much Harry disliked him at the moment, he could not help but admire the display of magical prowess and skill that he was seeing. _

_It was shocking, to say the least. The speed with which they cast and blocked spells was simply mind blowing and frankly, it made Harry quite dizzy. The duel was mainly silent, but every now and then one of them would shout out a spell in some language Harry didn't understand. In first year, Hermione had forced him to learn the basics of Latin so that he understood the spells he was casting. But this… this was a completely different language. _

_Suddenly, however, his mind supplied him with the answer and he frowned. It was the Ancient Language that the druids spoke. _

_Recently, Merlin's knowledge had started to leak into his own mind, often providing Harry with answers to questions that either Hermione or a professor had set. It was both unsettling and exhilarating (to be able to answer questions that usually only Hermione could answer). _

_Staring at the duellers, Harry suddenly realised a capital difference between the two sorcerers. Merlin was casting to capture and maim. Morgana was casting to kill. This of course made Merlin's job much harder, but Harry's respect soared as he saw that Merlin was slowly, but surely gaining the upper hand._

_Then suddenly… Merlin threw his staff to the side (which fell through Harry and into the high grass). Harry stared, confused. How was Merlin going to duel now? Harry had seen that in the last few memories, Merlin had become increasingly more proficient at wandless magic - but duelling wandlessly?!_

_Merlin then did exactly what Harry had thought he would do. He started casting with his hands. Harry stared, amazed as he continued to cast with the same speed as he had earlier, if not faster. _

_"__Oh my God," Harry whispered to himself. Merlin's movements were precise and efficient and what caught Harry's eye was how quick he was on his feet. He jumped, swirled, turned, pivoted… meanwhile Morgana only sidestepped or dodged. This revelation shocked Harry - so magical prowess and skill wasn't everything… lightness of foot and flexibility also went a long way. _

_The duel ended when Merlin managed to disarm Morgana who wasn't quite so proficient with wandless magic. She offered little resistance as he rendered her unconscious._

_._

Portrait-Merlin was right. His condition had become worse - and the longer he denied who he was, the worse he felt. He tried to find the portrait… he even retraced his footsteps from the library, but it seemed Merlin didn't want to be found. He needed answers to his questions… but Merlin seemed to want him to figure out the answers by himself.

He was so tired nowadays, that he had started to brew energy and pepper-up potions and had started to take them regularly during the day. One when he woke up, one after lunch, and one after dinner. Harry was well aware of what was going to happen if he spent longer than three weeks doing this - he would become addicted. But he had no choice, not really. It was either drink the potions or stagger around looking like an inferi.

Hermione was still researching his condition in the library. Harry didn't have the heart to tell her that he had figured it out - or rather - that Portrait-Merlin had told him. He didn't want her to know… she would start to idolise him. And he didn't want that. He didn't want to be the boy-who-lived. He just wanted to be _just Harry._

Harry had started to beat Ron at chess. The first time that had happened - almost a week ago - he had been so shocked that he had sat staring at the board for a full thirty minutes wondering if it was luck or if he really _had _beaten him. Most of the patrons of Gryffindor Tower had been delighted as Ron had been the undefeated champion for the last five years. It was nice to have a change. Ron was disgruntled, but tried not to show it. Harry had tried not to rub it in - he knew how much chess meant to Ron… it set him apart from his family.

Attacks were happening more often now, more and more people were disappearing… Nowadays, one of the first things Harry did when coming down to breakfast, was open the _Daily Prophet _to the page which stated who had died or disappeared. It had become a daily ritual and he often hoped that he didn't see a name he recognised.

That morning - a sunny if cold mid-March morning - Harry had come down to breakfast slightly more refreshed than he had in a long time. The pepper up potion was marvellous!

Grabbing a discarded newspaper, Harry sat down next to Hermione.

"Good Morning, Hermione."

She glanced at him and frowned, "Are you still taking the Pepper-ups?" Harry looked away in shame. Pepper-ups were considered a weakness in the wizarding world, a legal drug.

"Uhm yeah…" When he saw that she was about to protest, he interrupted her, "Look. I feel like shit, I look like shit. They give me energy I haven't had for several months now, ok?"

"Harry… You'll become addicted to them."

Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, "I know," he whispered, then turned his gaze at Hermione. "But if I don't take them, then I can't function. I promise that I'll stop as soon as I manage to find a way to stop the memories, yeah?"

She nodded reluctantly but glanced up at Dumbledore who was conversing joyfully with a scowling Snape. "You should still tell him, you know."

Harry sighed and said with a deciding tone that put an end to their conversation, "He already has many troubles on his plate."

He flickered through the _Daily Prophet_.

"So? Anyone we know?" Hermione finally asked. Harry skimmed through the articles.

"Yeah," he said rasining an eyebrow as one article caught his eye. "Mundungus Fletcher is in Azkaban-"

"Fletcher? What has he done now?" Ron's question revealed his arrival. He fell down ungracefully into the seat across from Harry and instantly started putting bacon and eggs onto his plate.

"Uhm…" Harry skimmed through the article again, "He was caught impersonating inferi… He was trying to rob houses by scaring people away." Harry let out a snort, "Typical."

"Harry!" Hermione admonished lightly, probably at his blasé reaction towards the whole thing. "He's going to Azkaban…" she paused and then added in a slightly lower voice, "besides, he's an Order member."

"Harry!" said a high pitched voice, and Harry turned his attention to an approaching Lavender. She smiled coyly at Ron and sat down next to him. She passed Harry a small scroll with Dumbledore's writing on it.

"Dumbledore saw me in the hallway - he asked me to give this to you," she said. Harry raised an eyebrow - Dumbledore was using students as owls?

"Thank you, Lavender-" But she wasn't listening. Instead she had made her way into Ron's lap and they were snogging.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for showing _intimate _public affection." Snape's voice came as a surprise as no one had seen him stand up. He really _was _as sneaky, overgrown bat.

Ron and Lavender broke apart, both blushing. Hermione looked smug.


	5. Chapter 5

**So we've come as far as I did the first time around that I posted this story. Only now it's been polished somewhat, at least it was, a year or two ago. **

**As far as I can remember, the spells in this story are inspired by Ancient Greek, but don't ask me how, I've forgotten most of what I studied in school. **

* * *

Next week, on a particularly long Friday (they had after all had DADA and Potions on the same day), at eight pm, Harry found himself walking towards the Headmaster's office. He had just taken a pepper up potion and was sufficiently energised to have a proper, intellectual conversation with the ancient man.

This time, as he approached the gargoyle, it stood frozen on its spot and Harry briefly wondered _why _had moved aside that one time when he'd come charging into the office. Putting it out of his mind, Harry said the password out loud, "ice mice."

The gargoyle seemed to glare at him for a long moment and Harry wondered whether it had a grudge against him. Eventually, the magic it was bound to, forced him to move aside. Harry smirked at it in victory, before he realised what he was doing. Then he scowled. It wasn't even a real gargoyle!

Harry climbed the spiral staircase, suddenly feeling very anxious. Dumbledore had told him to bring his wand with him. That in itself suggested they would be doing magic. And while Harry found the thought of _Dumbledore_ teaching magic to him as wonderful, he couldn't help but feel a little terrified. His magic had become rampant - it was rapidly growing both in strength and amount and recently, it had become somewhat harder to control it properly.

"Ah, good evening, my boy," Dumbledore exclaimed joyfully when Harry came in through the crack in the door. He instantly saw a scowling figure standing next to one of the chairs.

"_Professor _Snape," Harry acknowledged, glowering at the man. The potions-master-turned-DADA-professor ignored him.

"Severus here was just telling me how much you have improved in duels," Dumbledore said with a genial smile. _Severus _scowled.

"Potter is cheating somehow. I do not know how, Headmaster, but he is," Snape said petulantly. Harry mulled that over - could reincarnation be counted as cheating?

"Now, now, Severus, I am sure Harry has a reasonable explanation for that accusation."

Harry floundered for and answer. "Uh… I've been studying a lot."

Snape continued glaring distrustfully at him, then he turned to the Headmaster and nodded respectfully, "I assume our conversation will be continued at a later date?"

And suddenly, Harry felt like they hadn't been speaking about his sudden duelling prowess at all.

Dumbledore nodded once and was about to speak - but with a several large steps, Snape had already vanished.

Dumbledore closed his mouth and the corners of it turned downwards slightly as if unimpressed by Snape's child-like attitude. He turned to Harry.

"You are looking much better, my boy."

Harry gulped… Yeah, well… Pepper ups helped. "Thank you professor."

"Miss Granger wasn't the only one worried."

Harry blinked with surprise - the Headmaster had been worried about him?

"I don't- I don't know what to say, Headmaster." Honestly, what _did _one say in a situation like that?

"Harry, I believe our recent conversations and talks allow you to call me Albus - so please do."

Harry sat still for a moment, surprised and a little confused. "Uh… Professor, I couldn't possibly-"

"I insist, my dear boy."

Harry's gaze settled on his eyes. He looked tired and worn - more so than he had in a long time, but there was a way in which he looked at Harry - the way almost any orphan wanted someone to look at them. The way a father would look down at his son.

Harry nodded. "Very well, si-Albus."

The name felt odd in his mouth - he had never spoken to an adult so familiarly… well except for Sirius who was - to be honest - more a child than an adult. Dumbledore smiled again seemingly pleased with something.

"As you might have guessed, from now on, our lessons will not only be about reviewing memories about Lord Voldemort's life but also about magic." Dumbledore's wand seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere and he waved it around in a very complicated motion. Almost instantly, a tea-tray appeared on the desk between them, laden with two cups, a teapot and a small jug filled with milk.

"But first, Harry, I wish to ask you if there is anything you wish to tell me."

The sudden change in topic and atmosphere momentarily shocked Harry and he searched for an answer. He remembered that the only times Dumbledore had asked him such a question, was when Dumbledore had caught him leaving out some parts of a story. It wasn't outright lying… but it could be classified as such.

Harry raised a teacup to his lips and briefly looked down at the liquid - did it have a truth serum in it? He wouldn't put it past the Headmaster to lace his tea with a truth serum. The problem was, the Headmaster wouldn't know which teacup he would choose. So he pretended to take a sip.

"No Headmaster - Albus - there is nothing."

The Headmaster had reached for his own cup and was staring at Harry intently. Then seemingly coming to a decision, he nodded and suddenly relaxed.

"Very well. Shall we commence? I would like to see your skill in duelling before I properly start teaching you the art."

The Headmaster stood up and waved his wand in a wide arch. Almost instantly the objects in the room were swept to the sides. The office seemed to suddenly become longer, and a platform emerged from the floor. Harry instantly recognised it as a duelling platform.

Dumbledore gracefully walked to one end of the platform and Harry somewhat less gracefully to the other.

"Now, remember the rules, Harry. No unforgivable curses and no physical contact." He smiled and waved his wand. A number rose into the end and Harry realised it was a countdown. "The opponent is considered defeated when he incapacitated. Do you agree to these rules?"

Harry nodded jerkily as his eyes wandered to the countdown, watching warily as the number 'three' turned into 'two'. Dumbledore had adopted the standard duelling position taught in schools. Suddenly Harry remembered the duel he had watched between Merlin and Morgana - if Dumbledore was as good as Merlin (and Harry had no doubt of that) then he wouldn't stand a chance.

Placing his right foot forwards, and his left foot behind him, Harry balanced his weight out between his two legs to create some stability. He raised his wand up and relaxed his arm. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow as it was not a standard duelling position - well at least not in _this _era. Harry had noted that Merlin seemed to prefer this position as his core position. While duelling, he would doge, jump, move to the side, move forwards, but he would always return to this position.

And then the number 'one' became 'zero'.

Almost instantly, Dumbledore cast his first spell - which was the succeeded by at least five others. Harry refused to take the bait and go on the defensive and instead, pivoted. Three spells zoomed past him, colliding with a magical shield behind him. To his surprise, two other spells followed him and Harry was forced to raise a shield.

Then all of a sudden - a spell came to the forefront of his mind and he gritted his teeth. Merlin's fault no doubt. Nevertheless, he decided to use it.

"_Belä gä auxäthei,_" Harry intoned. Almost instantly, the floor beneath them trembled, and out of the ground, emerged a cluster of what appeared to be birds made out of earth. On closer inspection however, one could have seen a numerous arrows.

"_Oppugno." _Harry muttered silently and the arrows instantly flew at Dumbledore who ducked swiftly before transfigurating them into real birds which flew out of the office through the open windows.

"_Stupefy Duo, petrificus totalus, baubillious, confringo!" _Dumbledore exclaimed, wand moving at a speed Harry had only seen when Merlin had duelled. Harry spun to avoid most of the spells, before returning to his original position. The Blasting Curse, which had been cast a few moments after the rest approached him fast and Harry winced when he noticed that he wouldn't have enough time to conjure a _protego._ Instead he concentrated on his magic, and forced it to the tip of his wand.

"_Revertetur alica," _Harry intoned. It was a spell he had invented himself. The idea was that his magic would envelop the spell, disallowing it to activate, then it would propell itself back at it's original caster. Harry grinned in victory as the Blasting Curse was thrown back at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow in surprise and batted the spell to the side with a grin. Harry realised suddenly that the man was toying with him. Gritting his teeth, Harry waved his wand in a complicated motion. Instantly, every single piece of glass in the room broke.

"_Ad triae." _As one, the broken shards rose and plummeted themselves at Dumbledore who was forced to conjure a round shield around himself. Harry watched, transfixed as the shards became specks of sand as soon as they hit Dumbledore's shield.

Dumbledore pointed his wand directly at Harry and was about to cast something when Harry shouted: "_Ignis Opus!" _

He'd learned that spell from the Weasley twins and was supposed to create fireworks. Harry grinned when fireworks emerged from his wand and engulfed the room. One particularly large firework exploded and the fireball that was created became a large head of a dragon which Harry instantly directed at Dumbledore who conjured a large shield of water.

The old man then manipulated the steam into several war figures which marched at Harry.

Harry winced as one figure slashed his sword at him and left a large, red welt where the steam had come into contact with his arm.

"_Ventus!" _Harry exclaimed and a large jet of spiralling wind shot out of the tip of his wand. The steam figures instantly dissolved and Harry directed the wind at Dumbledore, smirking when even with his shield, Dumbledore was forced to take a few steps backwards.

The duel continued for a few minutes which surprised Harry as he had thought that duelling Dumbledore would me much harder. Granted; he was much harder to duel than Mafloy - the man seemed to know what he was going to do a few second before he did it and it infuriated Harry. Also, the fact that he seemed to be playing with him, angered him too.

It was almost twenty minutes into the duel that Merlin's knowledge suddenly intervened and Harry found himself suddenly casting spells he had never learned in this timeline. And in that brief moment, Harry almost _believed _that he was Merlin.

"_Excitate ignis draco," _Harry said in a near-praseltongue hiss. A large Horntail Dragon erupted from the tip of his wand - resembling Fiendfyre. It was hard to control as fire was one of the aspects of magic which was passionate and nearly uncontrollable. That was why Fiendfyre was so feared.

Harry froze as he stared at his spell. This was Merlin's spell. he had used this against Morgana and Harry was now using it against Dumbledore. Harry gulped and gripped his wand tighter trying to stay in control.

And he lost control.

The dragon, realising it was free, charged at Dumbledore who barely managed to raise the proper shield in time. This was something similar to Fiendfyre and wouldn't - couldn't be extinguished via water.

Harry stared, still frozen, as Dumbledore attempted to battle the dragon. He knew no one had used the spell since Merlin's time… Dumbledore would have a hard time finding a way to extinguish the fire.

Then, with tightly pressed lips, Dumbledore managed to encase the dragon in a jail made of ice. It remained there, growling and spitting fire, but unable to get out.

Harry gulped. He had almost severely injured Dumbledore. The Headmaster didn't know that spell - Merlin had been the first and the last to cast it. Harry took a few steps backwards, like a frightened animal. He could have killed the Headmaster.

And then Dumbledore turned his usually twinkling eyes in Harry's direction.

Suddenly, they were devoid of joy or exuberance. They were the eyes of a tired, wary man. There was something akin to disappointment in those eyes. Harry kept taking hesitant steps backwards. He felt his back hit the wall and he whimpered.

Panic rose within him - starting in his belly and slowly rising to his mouth. He wouldn't - he couldn't let Merlin dominate. He was Harry. Harry Potter - not Merlin the revered, powerful sorcerer. He needed to leave Dumbledore's office. Suddenly, the walls seemed to close on him and Harry felt bile rise up to his mouth.

Scrambling to his feet - he hadn't noticed that he'd fallen down to his knees - Harry charged out of the office, barely noticing the way the doors opened without him casting a spell. He barely heard the Headmaster desperately calling his name.

.

"So, have you finally lost control?"

Harry's head snapped upwards as his gaze fell upon the portrait of Merlin. He was smirking at Harry. He turned away from the portrait and rested his warm, sweaty forehead against the wall.

"I was watching the duel you had with the Headmaster. The other portraits were very impressed."

Harry turned his head briefly to glare at him. His hands were shaking and he suddenly felt very thirsty. He knew he needed a pepper up and he cursed his addiction.

"You're going through the first stages of withdrawal, you know."

"Look. Just shut up!" Harry exclaimed suddenly, turning fully. "I have enough of you in here, alright!" He gestured to his head. Merlin sighed exasperatedly.

"Why won't you admit that you are me?" Merlin said quietly. Harry closed his eyes and leaned against the wall.

"I don't want to be you," he admitted. "Until the age of eleven I was neglected by my family. They treated me like a house-elf. I was _nothing_ to them… Then I was introduced to the magical world and suddenly I was a hero - the centre of attention." He paused and opened his eyes, staring up at the portrait. "I don't want to be that. I want to be an average, normal wizard, with a nice family and parents." He swallowed, "Being the reincarnation of Merlin - of you is just the opposite. I'll be singled out again…" He trailed off.

Merlin pursed his lips, then let out another sigh and leaned back into his own armchair.

"As you might already know - from your visions (Harry scowled) - I grew up in a poor environment. I also wanted to be a simple man with a family and two perfect children. Fate singled me out and gave me the magic of the old religion." Merlin paused and Harry looked down in shame; he hadn't known this. He had only seen what had happened to Merlin in the visions.

"Harry, we are both destined for so much more. You have the power and intellect to make a difference - why don't you use that to your full potential? Don't delude yourself into thinking that you might have a normal life. I tried to do that and thus wasted the first twenty years of my life. When the Druids found me they taught me, and educated me and brought me to my full potential. You won't ever have a normal life. Stop trying to live that imaginative normal life and become the wizard you could be."

With that, Merlin gave him one last kind smile, before slipping out of his portrait.

Harry sat there for some time, he wasn't sure how long, it could have been minutes or hours, he wasn't sure.

He felt exhausted beyond belief. That duel had taken more out of him than he had thought it would. Turning his thoughts to the duel, Harry winced. He wondered what would happen now. Dumbledore wouldn't turn him over to the aurors - and if he did, what would he accuse him of doing? No, Dumbledore wouldn't hand him off to the Ministry. He had been protecting Harry from the Ministry for a long time now, he wasn't about to hand Harry over to be interrogated.

Would Dumbledore expel him? Harry didn't know, and right now, he didn't really want to. Hogwarts was his home and he didn't want to leave it.

The duel with Dumbledore had been amazing and for one moment Harry had felt like Merlin. He loved magic… and during the duel the very air he had breathed had been charged with it… it had been amazing.

Strangely, Harry was reminded of the duel he'd had with Morgana. No. Not _He - Merlin _had duelled with Morgana. But - Harry felt hesitant to admit it - his duel with his Headmaster had proved his power. Portrait Merlin was right… He wasn't normal - even by wizarding standards.

He was the Boy-Who-Lived.

He was the Chosen One.

He was _Merlin. _

Harry sat there for a moment and stared at his past self's portrait. Hadn't Merlin said he'd receive and onslaught of know-

Oh.

_Oh. _

It was sudden… Harry hadn't been expecting it… Suddenly knowledge, memories and power was pouring into him with a speed which Harry's body knew not how to adapt to. It was as if suddenly, his whole body was charged with energy - as if he had just been hit by a bolt of electricity.

Harry's mouth opened in a silent scream of pain - he could hardly breathe - and then… he knew no more.

.

The tangy smell of disinfectant assaulted his nose and Harry instantly knew where he was. He didn't want to open his eyes, he knew that if he did, Madam Pomfrey would be alerted by her numerous wards and that she would come storming to his side. For now, he just wanted to lay in bed.

He felt odd. It was like he was in a foreign body… and there was so much _magic _at his disposal. His very fingers itched with power and he simply wanted to do one spell. The Old Religion and the Ancient Magics had lain dormant for too long. And Merlin was back, and at the back of his mind, Harry could feel the Earth and Magic which lived in it was rejoicing, for the Old Religion was back.

Harry suddenly realised why he felt so odd… he was refreshed. He wasn't tired. He hadn't felt that way for… well… months…

Suddenly remembering that Merlin had been magic sensitive and had been able to see magic, Harry felt the sudden urge to open his eyes, consequences be damned.

His eyes fluttered open and he gasped with amazement. He wasn't disappointed. Magic had been practiced at Hogwarts for nearly a whole millennium and was saturated with Magic down to its very bones. There wasn't a single part of Hogwarts which wasn't saturated with it. Hence the reason why everything was brightly lit with colours.

Strings of magic waved in the air and magical objects around him had beautiful multicoloured auras. Raising his hand, Harry touched one such string of magic, shivering when it curled itself around his finger.

"Mister Potter!" Harry was snapped to reality as he heard Madam Pomfrey say his name. His hand dropped back down to his bed and his eyes snapped towards her.

Her face relaxed upon seeing that he was smiling contently at her. "How are you feeling, Mister Potter?"

Harry grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, put them on his face and stretched his arms in front of him, relaxing his slightly stiff body. "Quite well, Madam. Yourself?"

She seemed surprised at the question. "Very well. Thank you Mister Potter. But please _do _remember who the patient is."

Harry chuckled and pulled himself up to sitting position.

"What happened?"

Pomfrey reached into a small purse - no doubt magically enlarged - tied around her waist and pulled out a potion which she gave to Harry.

"You were found on the third floor corridor, near the library with your magical core severely depleted." She eyed him, "This only happens when the wizard or witch performs a significantly large act of Magic." She paused evidently waiting for Harry to contribute.

He simply charmingly smiled at her and downed the potion.

"I assure you Madam, I have simply no idea how this happened." He gave her the vial back. She harrumphed in disbelief.

"I shall not press you for answers, Mr Potter. I know how you value your secrets, but I urge you tell the Headmaster the truth."

"Also, I shall be holding you here for a night for inspection. If you are well in the morning, you will be allowed to leave."

Madam Pomfrey then left him to his own devices and disappeared into her office. Harry smiled after her. Gazing around, Harry noticed that he was he only student in the infirmary - well, his was the only bed which was unmade. Talking about beds… Harry grinned as he saw the sweets that had been placed at the end of his bed and chuckled when he saw a small, travelling set of wizarding chess - most probably from Ron.

Harry didn't bother reaching towards it, instead he wiggled his fingers and felt a sudden heat in his eyes and he knew they had briefly turned golden. Magic of the Old Religon coursed through his body and converged on his fingers. Instantly, the set flew to his outstretched hand.

It was at that moment, that the doors to the infirmary opened, slightly hesitantly - and Dumbledore came in.

He was dressed in a royal blue robe with stars embroidered on it. They were twinkling, much like his eyes. His eyes roamed the infirmary before resting on Harry's form.

Dumbledore walked hesitantly towards him and stopped a few feet away.

They both stared at each other for a few moments. Then Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Harry, I apologise. I am so profoundly sorry that our duel was so disastrous to your magical core." His voice was sorrowful and authentic enough.

Harry didn't quite know what to say. Their duel had been disastrous indeed, and he didn't know how to explain the dragon spell he had created in his past life.

"Professor-"

"Albus. Call me Albus."

Harry nodded seriously, "Albus, I- Look, it wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have used that spell."

Dumbledore regarded him calmly then nodded, accepting the apology. "I am curious - where did you learn it. I have never heard of anything like it…" He trailed off, staring at harry with a curious expression on his face. Harry coughed briefly, trying to make up an answer… He didn't want to tell Dumbledore who he had been in his past life just yet - he still hadn't really figured out who he was himself.

"I…" He paused, searching for a believable answer, "I… asked Professor Slughorn for a pass for he restricted section in the library."

It seemed like a plausible answer and technically it _was _true. He had received a pass from Slughorn at the beginning of the year, after he had successfully won the Felix Felicis Potion. Dumbledore obviously didn't believe him - if his slightly narrowed eyes were any indication, but he let it pass.

Harry sighed in defeat. "Look. I can't tell you just yet, Pro-Albus. I hope you trust me enough to tell you the truth when I deem the time to be right."

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment and Harry subconsciously brought his occlumency walls up. Finally, the Headmaster seemed to come to a decision because he nodded, and his countenance seemed to relax somewhat.

"Very well," he said with a nod. "I shall wait."

He then proceeded to conjure an armchair and seated himself down next to Harry.

Harry gestured to his chess set. "Chess?"

Dumbledore smiled and the a twinkle appeared in his eye. "Chess," he agreed.

Harry opened the box and instantly, the pieces arranged themselves in the correct positions. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "I see Miss Granger is becoming increasingly adept at charms."

Harry chuckled. "That she is. Black or White?" Dumbledore selected white.

"Pawn to E4," Dumbledore stated seriously. Harry snorted - such a common move.

"Pawn to C5," Harry said, employing the Sicilian Defence.

"Knight to F3." Dumbledore countered.

"Pawn to E6."

"Pawn to D3." Dumbledore was using the King's Indian Attack - an attack usually used by more aggressive players. Harry raised his eyebrows and glanced up at Dumbledore who was smirking slightly. The Black side looked disorganised and chaotic - which was the purpose of his tactic. It would throw an experienced player like Dumbledore off.

"Knight to B6." Harry said slowly, eying the board carefully.

"Albus!" Cried a voice and both Harry and Dumbledore turned in surprise at a quickly approaching Madam Pomfrey. She looked murderous.

"Albus! Can't you see it's eleven o'clock?! What are you thinking. Mister Potter will be discharged tomorrow morning but for now he is under observation and will not be bothered!"

Harry hid a smile. Few people could scold Dumbledore like that - Madam Pomfrey was one of the few who could.

Dumbledore attempted to put a placating hand on her forearm, but she shook it off. Harry actually sniggered and earned a glare from Madam Pomfrey. "I apologise, Poppy." He glanced at Harry and winked at him. "I shall take my leave now."

Madam Pomfrey continued glaring at the closed doors after he had left, as if daring him to come back.

.

"Harry! Merlin's beard, what happened to you!" Hermione exclaimed as soon as she saw him the next day at breakfast. She pulled him into a warm hug. Over her shoulder, Harry could see Ron standing up to greet him.

"Yeah, mate," He said, once Harry had managed to free himself from Hermione's grasp, "You were gone for three days. Pomfrey didn't let anyone see you!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known that he'd been asleep for so long - Pomfrey hadn't told him.

"I'm quite alright," Harry said placing one hand on Hermione's shoulder and the other on Ron's. "Thank you for your worry." His gaze turned down at the table laden with food. Ignoring the stares, he sat down on his usual spot. Hermione quickly slid down next to him, and Ron across from them.

"I'm quite famished!" He exclaimed.

"But what happened?" she asked quietly. Ron leaned forwards to hear their conversation.

Harry hesitated. "All in due course. I shall tell you later," he said slowly gazing at all of the people staring at them. Those who saw his accusing stare quickly turned away, blushing.

Hermione leaned back, staring at him with a raised eyebrow and he winced. She was already suspecting something. Ron was staring at him oddly as if he'd grown another head.

"You speak like him - like Dumbledore," Ron said slowly. Harry winced inwardly. He'd have to watch out. He spoke like Merlin had spoken in _his _life - evidently, gaining all of his memories and powers had affected him more than he had originally thought.

"As I said, all in due course."

It was at that moment that there was a large number of screeches and almost everyone in the hall turned their hopeful gazes up the ceiling. The messenger owls had come with mail. Harry turned to his food; he rarely received mail as his _relatives _couldn't really be bothered to write. The only other letters he ever received were from Sirius… and he was dead.

That was why he was surprised when an owl, with a red band around it's neck showing that he was a Hogwarts owl, landed directly in front of him. Harry gingerly took a the note from it's beak and watched it fly off. Hermione and Ron both looked at him expectantly. Both had owls in front of them, with newspapers in their beaks.

Harry pulled a small note from the envelope and was delighted to find a word, a letter and a number written in Dumbledore's ink and handwriting.

_Pawn to G3_

Harry let out a chuckle and turned to Hermione.

"Can I have your quill?"

She blinked at him in confusion, before reaching into her satchel and producing a quill and some ink. Harry wrote his answer on the back off the note and tucked it into his pocket. His answer was: _Pawn to G6._

"I'll be there for transfiguration - I have to go to the owlery to send my reply."

He left the Great Hall, feeling happier and more refreshed than he had in a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

Shorter chapter - but I had to delete a sizeable chunk because my dumbass self, three years or so ago, never re-read what I had written before continuing to write, creating massive amounts of plotholes.

* * *

Merlin was having severe problems with his wand; it no longer listened to him and only really allowed him to cast harmless wisps of light and smoke that didn't really have a purpose. It wasn't that surprising though, he supposed, considering that a different sort of magic had been awoken in him, that of the Old Religion, of the Druids.

He tried casting the assigned spell again, for appearances sake. Hermione was giving him an odd look, as he usually managed to get the transfiguration pretty quickly. Even McGonagall seemed confused whenever she passed by his table. They were supposed to be transfiguring a mouse into a goblet; even Ron had managed a furry goblet by now. Hermione's was shiny and decorative, much like the Goblet of Fire had been — and was that an inscription…?

His wand felt like a lump of coal in his hand, nothing more than a piece of wood. Grimly looking at it, Merlin realised that he would need a new one, or at the very least, a staff, which would probably be somewhat more appropriate for his style of spell-casting, also for the magic at his core, which belonged to that of the druids.

"…Mr Potter?" Merlin looked up to see McGonagall standing in front of him, hands on her hips. She looked annoyed. He realised that it probably looked as though he had been daydreaming. He coughed uncomfortably and noticed that those around him were watching him with eager eyes: gossip for them, of course.

"Yes, professor?"

"Please demonstrate, Mr. Potter," she said, gesturing at the mouse still crawling around Merlin's desk.

"I am unable, professor," he murmured quietly. She harrumphed unappreciatively. But her eyes surveyed him with a searching look, trying to find the problem.

"Ah. You have just won yourself a foot long essay on this spell, Mr. Potter. See to it that you are _able _to perform it the next time," she said sternly, before moving on to the next student; Ron. He was still trying to make his goblet look vaguely metallic.

"What's going on with you, Harry?" Hermione whispered to once McGonagall was out of their range. Merlin cocked his head as he examined her. "One minute you were doing _really _great in class, the next, you can't cast a simple transfiguration?"

Merlin licked his lips, attempting to figure out a way to answer her appropriately. He did not wish to give anything away in a premature fashion. Perhaps he felt a little indebted to tell Ron and Hermione what his true identity was, but he could just as easily push that urge away for as long as possible.

"My wand is… not functioning properly," he replied honestly. Her searching eyes widened.

"Oh! I read something about that in the library. Apparently if a wizard's magic changes too radically, the wand can loose its loyalty to the owner," she mused to herself. Merlin smiled as she worked out the different theories how his magic could have changed since his visit to the infirmary. Clever witch. What she didn't realise, however, was that his magic worked perfectly fine when he cast it without a wand. But then again, the Druids had existed in a time where wands were absolutely not as common as they were mandatory now.

Perhaps if he mulled over this with the portrait of himself in his other life, he would be able to find a solution. It was a privilege, he supposed, to be able to discuss a topic with oneself. Not many people had that opportunity.

So the moment the bell rang, Merlin stuffed his things in his satchel and rushed out of the class. He raced up to the third floor hallway and began surveying the walls, looking for Merlin's portrait. He found it at last, hanging way up high between a wizard on a horse, and an impressionist painting of a cook.

"Merlin!" He called, after having made sure that the hallway was relatively empty. A few sets of portraits's eyes turned down at him, but only the cook spoke.

"He's asleep," she said gruffly. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Would you mind waking him?"

"I would," she shot back. When Merlin refused to drop his glare, she sighed exasperatedly.

"He's gone to sleep. Now that he's back in you, he won't come back as a painting until you're dead. Two consciousnesses of Merlin cannot exist at one time," she said rather more eloquently than Merlin had expected her to be. He continued to chop a never-ending carrot.

"Ah, that's unfortunate," Merlin murmured. The wizard on the horse laughed so loudly and violently that he fell off of his horse.

"Harry!" Hermione was running up the corridor. She caught up with him, out of breath. "We have potions — what are you even doing here?"

Merlin's gaze caught the door leading to the room with the trap door that he, Ron, and Hermione had discovered in their first year. He blinked and gestured at it. "I was reminiscing," he said.

She gazed at him sceptically, but seemed to decide to drop the matter. She took him by the arm and began dragging him down to the dungeons. There, Merlin was confronted with a familiar magic emanating from someone: was that Draco Malfoy?

He spread out his senses and was surprised when the blond's magic responded to his — it had traces of the old religion within it! Surprised, Merlin felt a small smile creep onto his face. He had thought that the druids had all but died out, but it seemed that Malfoy had a few drops of blood from that old order. It warmed his heart to know that their practices weren't all gone, even if they were presently being used for evil.

"Good morning!" Slughorn exclaimed as the door to the potions classroom swung open. The students filed in, some more eager than others. Everyone quickly noticed the word that was noted on the black board and a ripple of excitement spread throughout the class.

"Now, now settle down!" Slughorn said merrily. He pointed his wand at the board and erased the words 'Shrinking Solution'. "No, I'm afraid my seventh years were busy doing that this morning. Ah, we'll be concocting the 'Volubilis Potion' today. Can anyone — yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione had instantly raised her hand and dropped it the moment he called her name. "Volubilis Potion is a potion that alters the drinker's voice. It will also restore their voice if they have lost it, and thus will end the effects of the Silencing charm," Hermione recited from her excellent memory.

"Ah my dear, I was simply going to ask whether someone could close the door," Slughorn said quietly, chastising her for her presumptuousness causing Hermione to blush a deep red. Merlin put a reassuring hand on hers and smiled encouragingly, then stood up and shut the door.

"Thank you, Harry m'boy."

When Merlin glanced at Malfoy he was surprised to note that gone was that typical I-hate-you-glare; instead the Malfoy heir was staring at him with a pensive look in his eye. Could it be that he could feel Merlin's druidic magic as he could feel the trace in Draco's? It wouldn't be a stretch, even _if _Merlin was doing a rather good job at hiding it away. There _was_ after all quite a lot of it to attempt to disguise.

"Turn to page 126, you'll find all of the requirements there. I shall be at the front if anyone has any queries," Slughorn said and disappeared into his back room in search for some restricted ingredient that was held under lock and key. There was an instant flurry of excitement as people began rushing about, trying to get everything they needed before they pulled the short-straw and managed to land themselves the oldest and stinkiest tool or ingredient.

Merlin, having been an excellent potioneer in his time, pulled out his textbook and glanced over the text, noting the corrections that the previous owner had made with interest. Eventually, he decided to put it aside, and figure it out himself. It usually worked best this way. Hermione gave him an odd glance as he did so, but said nothing, evidently jealous that he had been so much better at her in potions this year.

"Aren't you using the Prince's notes?" Ron whispered to him once dead silence had descended upon the class, everyone eager to make the best potion they could. Merlin smiled.

"I won't be needing them anymore," he whispered back. "I think I'd much rather work it out myself." Hermione gave an approving nod, having listened in on their conversation.

"You won't mind if I—" Ron jerked his head at the textbook. Merlin laughed.

"No, of course not, Ron, do as you please."

Merlin worked with a complete sense of satisfaction; he had made this potion before, he recalled, having learnt it from the creator himself. He supposed there would be many other potions in this class that he hadn't done before, but even then, he would excel. It was no coincidence that Nicolas Flamel had based most of his research on his own findings.

"Harry, how is your potion so red?" Hermione whispered to him about an hour into the class. Her hair was in disarray and her fingers were stained yellow from the Honeywater that had spilled over her fingers early in the potion-making process. Her potion was a dull rose-pink.

Merlin scooted a little closer to her and sniffed at it. "Your syrup of Hellebore wasn't quite fresh," he murmured.

"You got that from a sniff?" Ron exclaimed, drawing the attention of Malfoy who glared daggers at them. Slughorn too glanced over, having been tutoring a Ravenclaw on his mistakes.

"It smells a little too tangy. Add some mint leaves to counteract the syrup," Merlin said to Hermione, ignoring Ron.

"But there aren't any mint leaves in the recipe?!" Hermione's tone was scandalised. Merlin shrugged; it was her choice. She harrumphed but after a few more stirs with her ladle, the potion only turned more translucent. She gave him one final glare before stalking to the ingredients' cabinet and retrieving some of the mint leaves that Merlin had recommended. She chopped them up and dropped them into her cauldron. Instantly the potion turned a bright red, exactly as the textbook explained.

"How did you know?" Hermione asked excitedly. Merlin smiled again, but said nothing. All in good time, he would tell them someday who he really was.

He steadily increased the heat of his potion until it began turning orange and then yellow. Eventually he brought it to a simmer until several sparks shot into the air, nearly singing his eyebrows.

"Oho! We have the first 'outstanding'!" Slughorn exclaimed, bumbling over. He peered at the potion Merlin had created and cheered loudly.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor! Excellent work, m'boy." He glanced around the table and disappointedly sniffed at Ron's potion before turning to Hermione's which had just released its own round of sparks.

"Oho, another twenty to Gryffindor, Miss, Granger. What excellent work from you two today."

The class slowly drew to an end and only one other Ravenclaw and Draco Malfoy managed to get the potion exactly right. Merlin told his two friends to head on to lunch and remained in the class, waiting for Slughorn to turn around. When he finally did, he jumped in shock.

"Ah, you gave me quite a shock, Harry," he said, clutching his chest theatrically. Merlin cocked his head to the side, giving him a searching look.

"I quite apologise, professor."

"If you're here for your grade, worry not, my dear boy, an outstanding is coming your way!"

"Thank you, professor. But I am here on another matter."

"Ah, yes. Miss Granger. I did notice that you helped her out, quite inspired, Harry — to use mint leaves in such a way," Slughorn smiled wistfully as he was briefly lost in his thoughts. "You're quite like your mother, you know."

Merlin smiled and tapped his temple.

"Your memory, Professor. It's made a difference in the war…" Merlin trailed off, seeing how Slughorn instantly paled. The professor seemed less nervous than when he had given Merlin the memory, possibly because he had resigned himself to judgement.

"It wasn't your fault anyway. Tom would've found out about soul magic in any other way."

Slughorn gave a single nod and the corner of his lips quirked up in a sort of sad half-smile. He reached out with a hand and Merlin instantly grasped it. The professor clasped his other hand around the warlock's. Calmness radiated from the professor; feelings of guilt seemed to have slipped away.

"Thank you, Harry." Slughorn paused. He gave Merlin an uncharacteristic serious look and in a grave tone, spoke: "When the war comes, and it shall, know that I am forever on your side, regardless of who your parents were. I will be on your side, Harry, because of _you_."

.

Merlin felt unstable as he left the classroom. His legs were shaky, and his breath was coming out in nervous coughs. To have a person confess their complete and utter trust in him… well, it reminded him of the Knights of the Round Table, and the way with which they had treated King Arthur. Merlin had never been a leader in that fashion. He had chosen to keep to the shadows and lead from there. This war was going to be public, and it seemed he had found his first 'Knight'l

He began heading to the Great Hall, where lunch was taking place. Undoubtedly, he would be late and had probably already missed a great deal of it, but he wasn't particularly hungry, not after his experience with Slughorn.

He encountered a few students here and there; greeting only the few he knew. The Slytherins who he came across, one glared daggers at him, even the first years, having already been indoctrinated with a powerful hatred for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Merlin gazed at the suits of armour that decorated the halls, examining them with interest… there was something about them… some sort of spell…

Getting somewhat closer to one of them, he touched the surface, attempting to glean more information from it. He found something surprising: Helga Hufflepuff's magical trace was clearly attached to it. _This _was her contribution to Hogwarts; _this _was her hidden surprise. Rowena had created the Room of Requirement, Salazar the Chamber of Secrets, Godric the office that Headmasters now used and Helga had created a whole defence mechanism that spread throughout all of Hogwarts.

He channelled his magic into the suit, activating all of the wards and enchantments on the empty armoured suit. It was like a chain reaction: the suit of armour made a clanking sound before taking a step to the front. In a military-esque fashion, he rearranged his wizarding weapon to stand to attention. Every suit in the hallway did the same thing, as did the massive stone sculptures that dominated the alcoves in the Great Hall.

In an instant, Hogwarts was in battle-mode. Dangerous times required dangerous measures, Merlin thought grimly.


	7. Chapter 7

Reread this chapter for the first time since I wrote it a year ago. Surprisingly okay. Hope you like it. Shit starts to get serious here :)

* * *

Everyone had seen the instant shift at Hogwarts in the way it had readied itself for battle. It seemed that even the portraits themselves had found some sort of hoard of weapons that they could borrow and they all stood to attention, staring at the students in a warlike weariness.

Even Ron, who was usually rather oblivious when it came to such events, remarked upon it one Saturday morning when heading to their apparition lesson. Hermione was tagging along but engrossed in a book that didn't look much like a textbook and more like a children's book.

"I'm pretty sure I haven't seen this suit of armour yet," Ron said as they rounded a corner. He poked a finger at the suit's armoured head. Instantly the metallic arm rose in a robotic fashion, and pushed Ron away.

"What the bloody hell!" Ron cried. Merlin laughed at his expense, even Hermione, who was trying to pull a serious expression, cracked up.

"That's incredible spell-casting," Hermione walked around the suit and although no eyes followed her, the suit seemed to have gained more alertness. She didn't attempt to touch the armour like Ron had, but she did lean in to look through the two little holes designed for the eyes.

"They're empty!" she said excitedly. "This is sentient magic… Merlin, Hogwarts must be controlling them, _she _must have jolted them into action!"

"So it seems," Merlin said with a laugh and tried to pull her away, but the moment he got near, the suit actually gave him a salute. It was being powered my Merlin's power and as such recognised him as the sort of leader.

"And now the suit is saluting you?" Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course he bloody well is," he muttered under his breath, his typical jealousy shining through.

The continued down the hallway, passing a few other seventh year Gryffindors who were also making their way to the apparition lesson, also very unenthusiastically. Upon reaching the Great Hall, Merlin took a place at a corner at the very back, managing to silently sneak away from his bickering friends.

In his previous lifetime, apparition had not existed. Instead wizards had used carpets, brooms, and the like. Merlin had been very partial to the practice of transfiguring oneself into an animal and travelling in that way, but it seemed that in modern magic self-transfiguration was considered very difficult, and very dangerous.

The apparition instructor was a man of oddly colourless complexion, with transparent eyelashes, wispy hair, and an insubstantial air, as though a single gust of wind might blow him away. He preached a 'three D's method', which Merlin thought of as particularly foolish. Destination, Determination and Deliberation, that was the rule.

Wilkie Twycross, the instructor cleared his throat, casting a sonorus on his throat so as to be heard by all and began to speak, telling the same three words over and over again. Dumbledore stood at the other side of the room as the law required him to be present during these lessons.

Merlin stepped into his assigned hoop and looked over at the one across him, the empty one, into which he was supposed to apparate. Looking around he noted that most of the other students had begun attempting to apparate. One or two had already splinched themselves causing Madame Pomfrey to instantly rush over.

Merlin examined his empty hoop with interest, noting the ground and with will alone, wishing that he were there. Apparition didn't seem all that difficult, because the next instant he was standing in the second hoop, without so much as a whisper of a sound.

"Oho! First one's got it!" Cried Twycross across the room, having seen Merlin apparate successfully. Merlin caught the sight of the students around him who gave him frowning looks and only doubled their efforts to become the second person to apparate.

"Name?" Twycross said once he had approached Harry. He stood there with a scroll floating next to his head.

"Harry Potter," Merlin said quietly. Twycross nodded in a professional manner and gestured at the initial hoop that Merlin had disapparated from.

"Could you demonstrate a second time?"

Merlin easily did that, again without a single sound or gust of wind, appeared in the first hoop, having preserved the same posture and slightly turned head.

"Oh, wonderful, Mr Potter!" Twycross exclaimed again. He pointed his wand at the scroll and nodded once. "I will arrange for you to take the exam in Hogsmeade the weekend after next. Is this acceptable?"

Merlin gave a solid nod. "Thank you, Mr. Twycross."

The man gave him a cheerful nod and moved on to the next student, returning to his usual drab self.

The lesson ended and two more students splinched themselves, only Hermione managed to apparate somewhat wobbly into the other hoop. Merlin, who wanted to avoid as many questions as he could, instantly left the Great Hall, the moment goodbyes were said… and walked right into a blond head.

Malfoy grasped Merlin's shoulder so as to avoid toppling over and quickly let go as though burnt. Merlin too, had a similar reaction; they stared at each other for a long moment, assessing one another. Malfoy's druid magic was stronger than he had thought and it had just reacted rather starkly to Merlin's.

"Draco," Pansy said at his side. She was sneering at Merlin. "Come on."

The Malfoy heir and Merlin continued to stare at each other even as the former was pulled away by his hoard of admirers. The latter was quickly joined by his own Gryffindor lackeys, precisely the people he had been attempting to avoid.

"That was incredible, Harry," Hermione said, giving him a short hug of congratulations. Merlin smiled at her.

"Likewise, Hermione."

"How'd you bloody learn that?" Ron asked, eyebrows furrowing. Merlin supposed it was annoying to be the least academically gifted of a circle of friends. Ron, however, seemed to have great capabilities at intellectual strategic thought, which Hermione rather lacked. They would compliment each other ideally, Merlin mused.

"Ah, practice, Ronald."

"It's Ron, mate — did you leave your brains in that hoop?"

Merlin bowed his head in apology, as had been done almost a thousand years ago; he instantly rectified that mistake too, and said a simple sorry. His memories of a past time were beginning to influence his present, which would not do. He would have to reexamine the manners and customs of this era, to appropriately be able to navigate through it. He had his memories of his life as Harry, but even those were limited; after all, he had been raised in a cupboard, away from civilisation, save from other students at school.

"Harry, Harry, Harry!" said Colin excitably. As always seen with his camera, Merlin was surprised to see him lacking it. He passed Merlin a note. "Dumbledore gave me this to give to you; he says it's urgent!"

The boy ran down the hallway and disappeared, leaving Merlin with Ron and Hermione who were both looking at the note expectantly. Was he to have no private life?!

"I apologise. It seems I must go," Merlin said to them. He politely gave them each a nod and brushed past them.

"I swear, he's different, Hermione," he heard Ron complaining. Hermione seemed to sigh.

"He's under a lot of stress… and Dumbledore is teaching him a lot so—" Merlin didn't hear the rest as he rounded a corner and began ascending a staircase that was hidden behind a large portrait of Rowena's mother. This secret staircase rarely shifted and allowed one to get to places much quicker than usual, if one took the normal paths.

Merlin ascended the winding staircase, taking two steps at a time, not having given a password to the gargoyle at all. The castle currently recognised him as its protector and allowed him to do as he pleased. He pushed the double doors open and was faced with a rather comical scene:

The Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, was pacing in front of the desk, looking furious. His face was fuming and his brow was drawn into a deep frown. He seemed to be in mid-shout. Sitting behind said desk, was Dumbleodore, looking serene as he listened to the minister with interest.

"Ah, Harry!" Dumbledore said quietly; his voice instantly cut off the minister, who seemed to sink in on himself. Merlin inclined his head in greeting, before shutting the doors behind him and taking a seat in one of the two armchairs across Dumbledore.

"Minister? May I ask you to calm yourself and sit down?"

Scrimgeour gave him a shrewd look and then slowly sat into his armchair, he crossed his legs and interlinked his fingers on his knee.

"What a coincidence to see you here, Harry," Scrimgeour finally started. Merlin readjusted himself in his armchair and cocked his head at the minister.

"Not a coincidence at all, Minister, I am after all, a student here. You, are not," Merlin stated, briefly flicking a cat hair from his knee. The Minister's eyes followed the hairs descent.

"Quite right, Harry. Indeed, to speak of the devil, we had just been discussing you," the Minister said, not sounding in the least respectful as he had the first time Harry had met him in the garden behind the Burrow.

"Ah, were you? I assume your war effort is not going as planned and propaganda hasn't spread as you wished it to, so you have finally swallowed your pride and come crawling to me for assistance? You wish for me to sing the praises of the Ministry?"

"I wouldn't put it exactly that way…" Scrimgeour began. Merlin interrupted him.

"No, Minister, it is exactly like that. Your campaign to demonise the Death Eaters has been successful, but only in that it has instilled fear into the hearts of witches, wizards, and magical creatures alike. Has it prompted a sense of pride? No. Has it prompted a fighting spirit, no Minister." Merlin examined his fingernails as he spoke, known this to be an excellent manipulative gesture to show the opponent that they weren't as interesting as one's nails.

"Harry, my boy—" the Headmaster interrupted before Scrimgeour and Merlin could get into a proper argument.

"No, Dumbledore, I came for a purpose," Scrimgeour waved the Headmaster off. "You have been hiding Potter away from me for months, _protecting_ him."

"Had it crossed your mind Minister, that perhaps it was I who did not want to see you?" Merlin said somewhat harshly. The Minister actually looked shocked; it was evident that he had not considered this possibility.

"Your posters and manipulated newspaper articles attempt to convince the public that the Ministry is dealing with the war in impeccable fashion, when in fact it is caving to Voldemort's pressure. Once you stop talking about doing and _do, _then I shall support you. Until then, shame on you for misleading the public," Merlin said succinctly. Dumbledore looked at him with a raised eyebrow, looking at him over his half-moon glasses with interest.

"Remember, Minister, you are the Minister 'for' Magic, not 'of', that is a mistake repeated so often that it has become the truth. You do not lord over magic, you serve it and its people. Make sure to remember that, Minister."

The Minister had frozen and his mind seemed to be be processing the information he'd been given. He wasn't particularly intelligent in the sphere of politics. Once he had been an effective auror, Ron had informed him, but his intelligence didn't stretch out to the political variety.

It was then that a patronus suddenly appeared in the room — a lynx. It circled the room majestically, before coming to a stop in front of Scrimgeour. When the lynx opened its mouth, Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice came out.

"Diagon Alley under attack, Minister. I repeat, Diagon Alley is under attack."

The Minister's eyes widened, then he squared his shoulders and slashed his wand through the patronus.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." And with that, he grabbed a handful of floo powder, and disappeared into the flames.

Merlin and Dumbledore remained in silence for a few minutes longer, until Dumbledore exhaustedly took off his glasses, dusted them off, and then put the back on his crooked nose. He sighed deeply.

"That was a very harsh thing you did, Harry," he finally said. Merlin shifted in his seat again. He knew he had humiliated the Minister, but better now, before he could do something about his administration, than later, when he assumed that Voldemort would get to him to make way for Pius Thickenesse, who was even more of a pawn than Fudge had ever been.

"Harsh, but very necessary," Merlin murmured. His mind automatically went to the horrible things he had done to Mordred and Morgana at the eve of his own life. He had died shortly thereafter, having finally restored a semblance of equality between light and dark.

"Harry, is there something that is bothering you?" Dumbledore sounded concerned and although Merlin genuinely liked the man, he was uncertain as to how much the man actually saw him as a friend, and how much a pawn. There certainly was something manipulative in his character, much as there was in Merlin's own.

"Your professors have been reporting a sudden problem with spells… has something emotionally affected you? I was under the impression that you and Ginevra Weasley had been getting on… better." It sounded odd to hear these things coming from Dumbledore's mouth. Since he had offered Merlin to call him by his first name, a more familial relationship had established itself between them.

There hadn't been wands in his day, only staffs and wandless magic (which of course hadn't had that name), but it wasn't a leap to think that if one's personality changed too starkly, then the previous wand would loose its loyalty to the owner. His druidic magic that had resurfaced after he had remembered who he was had probably also had an effect on the way that his wand reacted to him.

"I seem to be having a problem with my wand," Harry said after a short pause. He pulled it out of his cloak pocket and gently paced it on the desk between them. It was unharmed, and looked to be in once piece. Yes, it was worn, but that just added to the charm.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose at the comment. He examined the wand more closely and intensely.

"How very odd," he murmured to himself. He glanced at Harry searchingly. "Wandlore has never been a strength of mine, but this sort of thing happens after intense emotional upheaval or personality change."

"What are you asking me, Headmaster?" Merlin asked, leaning into his armchair comfortably.

"Upon awaking in the infirmary, you asked me for my trust and I blindly gave it," Dumbledore said seriously. "Weeks have passed and you have changed dramatically. You excel in theoretical classes, fail in the practical as your wand apparently does not work. This all began at Yuletide and only intensified after your visit to the infirmary. What I am asking, Harry, quite directly, is who are you."

There was a coldness to his tone that made Merlin think that were there a glass of wine in his hand, it would've frozen. It occurred to him that he had never seen Dumbledore speak so directly with him before.

"Hogwarts is on high alert; wards I never knew existed have sprung into existence, and I pride myself on knowing everything about this castle. Even Hagrid reported that the magical creatures in the Forest have armoured themselves, patrolling the border and gates on a regular schedule."

"The truth might horrify you, Headmaster," Merlin noted, cocking his head to the side as he considered the old man. He knew that Dumbledore loved Harry like a grandson. Finding out that a person one loved dearly was the reincarnation of history's most famous wizard… well, he didn't know how well that would go over, which was the precise reason why he hadn't confessed his true identity to Ron and Hermione… he also… enjoyed the way they looked at him with such innocence and friendly love. That would all be replaced with reverence and perhaps revulsion, were they to find out who he was, who he had always been.

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution."

Merlin gave a small chuckle. He supposed that was true and he knew that he certainly hadn't been that wise upon his death. They sat in silence for a long, unbearable minute. A minute in silence tended to be much longer than a minute in conversation. He examined the old man with interest; his lines that bespoke of old age, the sharp, intelligent eyes, the odd clothing, and finally the blackened hand that had touched the curse placed upon Tom Riddle's ring.

Merlin's eyes finally turned to the portraits that adorned the office. They were all pretending to be asleep, but really were listening in on all the conversations. He gazed at them for long enough, that some of them even began cracking their eyes open to see why a silence had descended upon the office.

"May I ask the portraits to vacate their frames?" Merlin finally asked. There was a ripple of outrage.

"They are quite loyal to me, Harry. Anything that is said in this room will stay in this room."

Merlin smiled. "I insist, Headmaster."

They held another staring contest, until Dumbledore finally saw something in him that seemed to convince him. He glanced up at the portraits and nodded to them. They all disappeared from their frames, all frowning and taking as long as possible.

"I have conceded to your demands, now, tell me." Dumbledore spread out his arms to prompt him to speak.

Merlin leaned forwards, and smiled at the man, eyes twinkling as he allowed himself to relax into what he had been like in his past life. It occurred to him he had been slightly a little like Dumbledore, albeit perhaps more rational and a tad more powerful. Maybe more than a tad.

"What do you know about _Rebirth_… Albus?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Just to be clear I'm borrowing elements from various interpretations of the Merlin myth, so this isn't following the Merlin BBC version, or the myth that we all know and love and etc. any other franchise. The facts that you will need to know about his story will be given in this fanfiction.  
**

**Again, I apologise for whiny and look-my-english-is-good-I'll-use-words-and-speech-patterns-no-one-uses-in-real-life me. It wasn't good (the English) and it isn't now (no really, I'm not fishing for compliments, I've never been really great at the language, only okayish at pretending to write like I know what's going on). **

* * *

"What_ do you know about _Rebirth_… Albus?"_

Albus Dumbledore looked a little lost, and he felt it too; he had been expecting some sort of monumental reveal of teenage love, or some sort of depression. Anything but this. Youth was fickle and Harry Potter was no exception to this rule. Albus' mind raced as he processed Harry's comment. Was it possible that… Harry… but no….?

"Not very much," he said in reply to the rhetorical question. When Harry's eyes twinkled at him with the merriment that old men usually enjoyed, a thought hit him — Harry really _was _the reincarnation of someone. And someone very manipulative and frighteningly intelligent, if the conversation with Scrimgeour had been any indication. Harry had managed to completely decimate any argument that the Minister had constructed for himself to justify his decisions. Perhaps it had been a step in the right direction.

"You're not…" Albus caught himself saying, seeking the confirmation that he needed. Harry continued smiling at him; the smile of a melancholic, old man.

"A prophecy was made a millennia ago," Harry began — well, not Harry at all, he supposed. Or maybe Harry had been this other person all along, but without the memories. Albus sincerely hoped that his personality as Harry was simply a reflection of what he had been in his past life.

"This prophecy told of a wizard who would return, when Albion was threatened by an imbalance within magic itself." Harry looked content to slowly lead him to the answer and Albus was certainly beginning to realise exactly what he was talking about.

"An imbalance between dark and light?" Albus mused to himself. That was the credo of the druids; the Balance. Druids were supposed to be extinct, having been eradicated by Morgana Le Fey, but they had interested Albus since his childhood.

The small smile slipped off Harry's lips as his brow furrowed. His gaze became slightly hazed as though he were deep in thought.

"Precisely. Magic itself woke me in my slumber. I have been reborn many times before, but I have never retained my memories, much like most witches and wizards. My reincarnations all became great men, having an intuitive connection with magic."

"And this prophecy was made by whom?" Albus asked slowly, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the desk as he steepled his fingers under his chin. Harry's eyes were twinkling eagerly as he egged Albus on, to discover who he was.

"I was quite in love with her," Harry mused, a sad smile crossing his lips as he seemed to remember. The English poet Alfred Lord Tennyson crossed Albus' mind: _'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all._

"Her name was Freya, but she also went by 'the Lady of the Lake'."

It took less than a second for it all to click, but when it did, Albus took a deep breath and leaned back in his oak chair, regarding Harry with new eyes — not Harry, he reminded himself, Merlin. Or was it a symbiosis? Had Harry been Merlin all along? Had their personalities always been one and the same?

Albus was unsure of how to proceed. He, along with thousands upon thousands, millions of other magical children had been raised to idolise Merlin — by God! Most of their cursing revolved around him and his 'saggy y-fronts!'. Muggles told tales of this man, they treated him much like one would a Greek myth. For witches and wizards, Merlin was the Shakespeare of Magic. He had invented concepts and theories that were used today in modern magic. He had not had the capability or the kind of magic to use it, as he had been born from the Old Religion, but he had foreseen magic's evolution into two types; the Modern, and the Old Religion. The latter had died out at Morgana Le Fey's hand a millennia ago.

It wasn't a stretch to say that Albus was fascinated with him.

"Merlin…" Albus finally whispered. Harry smiled kindly, a stark contrast to how he had behaved around Scrimgeour.

"I prefer Emrys, to be honest, but only because I've heard how much people use my name as an expletive in this era," he said, bright green eyes seemingly enjoying this whole ordeal. Albus' throat and mouth were dry and his palms were sweaty. He felt like their positions should be reversed: Merlin was supposed to be leading them, not he Merlin!

"Reincarnation…" Albus murmured to himself before turning his gaze back on Harry… Merlin… Emrys, whatever! "May I ask how much of Harry still exists in you?"

Merlin considered the question for a moment.

"I was always him. My soul was always Harry's, he always had my personality and my little quirks. He had some of my power as well. But since regaining my memories, I continue to be Harry, as we are not any different from one another."

Albus wondered whether nature versus nurture had an effect in a case like this. Then again, he supposed there weren't enough cases like this for there to have been research done on the topic.

"You stated that the truth might horrify me," Albus said quietly, looking at the reincarnated sorcerer sitting before him. There was something fragile in the way the man spoke to Albus, like he expected a rejection any moment now.

"Yes, I'm afraid… most people wouldn't take it very well." Merlin smiled apologetically. "A certain myth exists around my persona and a certain kind of emotional and historical baggage makes itself known the moment my names are uttered."

Albus wondered whether he had told his friends, though from what he had seen of them in the past few weeks in the Great Hall, they seemed to treat him the same and children were usually more prone to idolisation. Merlin was a significant figure in wizarding history; any person young or old, would be easily tricked into idolisation.

"Voldemort must not hear of this," Albus said softly, perhaps subconsciously alluding to the fact that Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley could only be potential leaks, not voluntarily of course, nevertheless…

"Of course, I can count on your loyalty," Merlin said this in a tone that prompted absolutely no contest, not that Albus wanted to betray the sorcerer.

"Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley would never dream of abandoning you, were you to tell them about your past." Albus said, realising why, ultimately, Merlin had been so cagey up until now. Merlin laughed openly. It wasn't a merry laugh, quite the opposite, actually.

"No, not on purpose. But I see you, even now, attempting not to view me as something more than a man. History and legend has convoluted my character into a god-like visage. Yes, I am powerful — magic herself created me — but make no mistake, I am a man, as any other. No, no, I agree with you that the less people know, the better."

Albus realised quickly, that Merlin's soul had never been destined for a quiet, modest life. As Merlin, he had done incredible things. As Harry, he had been burdened by an incredible destiny. It wasn't a surprise, therefore, that all that Merlin really wanted, was a quiet life, away from the idolisation and adoration. He felt pity for Harry for having been burdened with something so awesome. He also felt pity for Merlin who was destined to be born in a time of disaster when his homeland was in danger. May you live in interesting times, indeed.

Merlin reached into his satchel and produced a memory. He set it on the desk with a small thump. "I trust you'll find your confirmation of the Horcuxes there, Headmaster."

"I think you of all people should call me Albus." His eyes were glued to the memory, this one most definitely the real one. Although it was almost impossible to tell this about a memory before one actually saw it, there was a distinct sort of clarity to it, that the fake one hadn't had.

Merlin gave a short, jaded laugh. He gestured a wild hand at Albus. "And there it is, that idolisation. It may be subconscious, but it is precisely the reason—" he broke off, burying his head in his hands.

Before Albus could even react in any way, Fawkes flew in through the open window and softly landed upon Merlin's knee. The sorcerer's head slowly rose and his gaze locked with the magical creature's. Fawkes was ancient, that much Albus knew, but he had never asked _how _old. Now, in retrospect, it occurred to him that there was a very good possibility that the bird was part of the Old Religion too, after all, his magic functioned in a completely different fashion to that of modern wizardry.

Fawkes gave a squawk of approval and with a few flaps, flew to his perch where he puffed out his chest, and began examining his magnificent feathers, never giving Merlin glance. Albus smiled at his friend as he passed him and sat down in the armchair next to the sorcerer.

**"**Fawkes has taken a shining to you," he commented. Merlin smiled and glanced up at the bird.

"He and I have a short history. I'm pretty sure we crossed paths once or twice in Camelot. He never quite liked me, nor I him. He had all the pride of a roman Caesar's pet."

"Julius Caesar?" Albus asked dumbly, never in all his life having felt so his depth as now.

"It was another time… magic… was part of every day life. Caesars had griffins and phoenixes, housewives treated mandrakes with respect. There was no difference between muggle and druid. It was just another characteristic. One person might have brown hair, the other magic. It was limited, yes, some people had only the capability to cast some weak spells. I think it was only after my time, that magic began choosing people more exclusively and then giving them a larger share of magic, whilst some other received none. That was the imbalance that Morgana Le Fey caused: she created the modern wizard. A magic-user who inherited his magical capabilities by genetics, rather than by a gift of the Mother of the Earth and had to use a wooden stick to channel this magic…"

"You mean to say that the everyday man had magical capabilities?" Albus asked in wonderment.

"Oh yes, most men could produce a weak flame with enough practice. Druids had a deeper connection to Magic, having been chosen by her to protect the balance."

"So your troubles with your wand stem from your incompatibility with modern magic?" Albus astutely observed. When Merlin glanced up at him with a curious gaze, he gave a small smile.

"Minerva commented that you seemed to be having issues with casting magic."

"Ah yes, my body hasn't quite calibrated yet, I'm afraid. For the time being, I think I will find a stick somewhere and pretend to cast magic that way, until the Old Religion quiets down somewhat and I can access my genetic modern magic once more."

Albus gave a sign of understanding, then swiftly stood up and took a case from a dusty bookshelf. Inside the case lay his wand, the one he had used until the mid-forties, when he had defeated Grindelwald and won the loyalty of the Elder Wand. He passed this wand to Merlin.

"This wand lost its function when it met Grindelwald's match. The crack — you see here — rendered it completely useless. It'll be much like a stick of wood."

Merlin turned it over in his hands, examining it closely. He seemed perturbed by something in it, but he thanked Albus nevertheless and vowed to take good care of it until he was ready to use his wand once more.

"This will allow me to gain some footing in this strange new world; yes, we must appreciate the past, but look to the future. The memory — we must watch it also… but I'm afraid a certain Professor Snape will be particularly angry if I arrive more than an hour late for his lesson. Shall we discuss the topic of Horcruxes after dinner?"

Albus nodded dumbly, before realising that an Order meeting would be taking place that same night. He explained as much to Merlin who sighed dejectedly, but accepted it. They eventually set a meeting for the next day.

.

It was an understatement to say that Snape was angry when Merlin showed up an hour late to his lesson. When he knocked on the door, and then opened it, he found himself staring at a petrified class; Slytherins and Gryffindors were all staring at him, the former with glee, the latter with no little amount of schadenfreude (some pity was a given).

This lesson just happened to be the sort that was completely theoretic, boring without a fault, especially with Snape teaching. Merlin took a seat at the back next to Ron, who poked him with his quill; he was doodling charmed pictures of Snape in Neville's aunt's hat, a brave thing to do in this class.

"Where were you? Snape's been abusing your name this entire class."

"Dumbledore wanted a word," Merlin said quietly.

"About what?"

Merlin was saved from answering when Snape caught sight of them whispering to each other. Well, salvation probably wasn't the right way to put it.

"POTTER!" Snape sneered, advancing on him. Merlin's brow furrowed. That man certainly wasn't a good representative of Slytherin House.

"Yes, professor?" Merlin replied somewhat innocently. Ron actually gave a soft snicker next to him.

"WEASLEY!"

"Yes, sir?" Ron had at least the common sense to sound scared, he didn't look it, however and just managed to crack up a little. This only caused the other Gryffindors in the class to crack up as well, causing a chain reaction. Suddenly, when the whole hoard of Gryffindor students was smirking and for those brief few seconds, no one was afraid of the Potions Master.

"Detention, two weeks, all Gryffindors," the professor sneered. The Gryffindor side of the class groaned, but they left with deep sense of satisfaction of having done something anti-establishment.

Merlin hadn't even unpacked his bag, he had come so late. So he quickly slung his satchel over his shoulder and exited the class, closely followed by the rest of Gryffindor house. It took Merlin a moment to realise that Malfoy was trailing him too. Noticing this in the reflection of a suit of armour, Merlin ducked into an empty classroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. It opened a few seconds later and Draco Malfoy hesitantly entered the room.

He spotted Merlin standing near the tinted, Gothic-style windows but didn't move closer. Instead, he simply shut the door.

"You have Druidic blood," the Malfoy heir said after a moment of silence. Merlin gave him a small chuckle… if only he knew…

"It seems you do too," Merlin said in reply. Malfoy's frown deepened.

"But you're not a pureblood?"

Merlin blinked incredulously at him. Druids were selected by magic herself and they tended to run in families, but it wasn't always a given that a Druidic child would inherit the magic of his parents. Druidic blood did seem to give a modern wizard some extra juice, if Malfoy was evidence of this fact. He seemed to have the subconscious ability to use magic of the Old Religion. Magic had chosen him for some purpose and even with their odd history, Merlin was inclined to trust him. That was not to say that there had been Druids, who had succumbed to ambition and thirst for power and had attempted to distort the balance.

"And yet you stand here and accuse me of being a Druid," Merlin said somewhat slyly.

"There are a few of us at Hogwarts; Gryffindors, Slytherins, and Hufflepuffs. We train together, regardless of our convictions. It is our birthright to possess the magic that Merlin once wielded."

"That's… awfully mature of you, Malfoy," Merlin said slowly, actually surprised by the comment. Apparently, he wasn't the only one with secrets.

"My heritage is more important than a few school squabbles," Malfoy said seriously. "I… have made a few poor choices, aligned myself with the wrong sorts. The Old Religion opened my eyes to the Druidic ways, this winter solstice. The others I am training with, also only learned of their heritage at Yuletide."

"Curious," Merlin mumbled to himself — he had had his first vision at Yuletide. It was possible that the winter solstice (a very powerfully magical day in the pagan calendar), had activated something in their magical cores.

"How do you train?" Merlin asked, quirking an eyebrow. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably.

"We have one tome to share between the seven of us…"

Merlin smiled. "I may have a solution for that."

.

Merlin descended down the winged stone staircase, hesitantly taking every step. Hogwarts worked by no rational logic, having been infused with so much magic over the centuries. It was no wonder therefore, that to get to the very heart of the castle — it's sentient core — Merlin had had to go up to the fourth floor, then get through a few dozen wards, a statue, a few magical, flesh-eating maggots, to then access the winding, windowless straircase. As opposed to much of Hogwarts, there weren't any torches attached to the walls.

So he kept having to cast a lighting spell, leading with his hand as he radiated light into the dark stairwell. It was also beginning to get cold. This gave Merlin only a hint as to how deep he really was. He'd actually been down here with Salazar and Helga once before, when the latter had been installing the wards into the core of the school.

Finally, he arrived at a simple wooden door. It looked rather rickety, as though it had been put together out of some old wooden planks. Merlin pushed his hand against it but found a mighty resistance; the door didn't budge. Channelling his magic into it, he found that it still remained steadfastly shut.

"Right," Merlin murmured, examining it. As far as he could sense it, there were no wards here and there was no lock. Helga, who had probably set this door up, had come from a long line of blood-magic practitioners, perhaps blood was key.

Reaching for Dumbledore's wand, he willed it to cut and then dragged the tip against his palm. Instantly, a cut opened up and blood oozed out of the wound, dripping onto the floor. Wasting no time, Merlin pressed his palm against the door; a pulse of light rippled across the wood and swung open, soundlessly too.

He pushed past the door, healing his hand as he did so, until only a scar remained.

Merlin emerged into a cozy little hall, much more different to the one that Slytherin had fashioned for himself. In the middle stood four statues, one representing each of the founders. Merlin circled them before coming to a stop in a little area right in the centre, so that all of the statues surrounded him.

Their heads shifted around to look at him, stone grating on stone as their necks turned and made an uncomfortable sound. Merlin wrinkled his nose; definitely Helga. She had loved ghost stories and anything that involved the supernatural… or at least as supernatural as you could get in the magical world.

From this point, Merlin looked up to the centre of the ceiling. It too was rounded and turned into a sort of turret at the very centre.

Sending out another pulse of his magic, Merlin detected four spells, one on each of the sculptures. The one on the lion was strictly an offensive ward, that would decimate anyone approaching Hogwarts with ill intentions. The one on the snake was sentient and concentrated on strategy, so that the lion ward and the one on the badger, responsible for defence, coordinated when under attack. The one on the eagle was literally a 'flight' ward, designed to provide students with ways to escape the castle.

The were all dormant.

Merlin shut his eyes as he accessed his magical core, concentrating as hard as he could on those four strands of magic that were interlinked with each other in such a complex fashion that it made his head hurt. Metaphysically grabbing hold of all of them, he sent the first pulse of magic. Nothing happened and the wards remained dormant. A second, somewhat stronger pulse, sent a ripple of energy through the room. Unleashing all of his magic, Merlin made a third attempt — the activation of these wards required four very powerful people. He, unfortunately did not have the luxury of finding four people who had the power, and the knowledge to use this sort of magic.

With the third pulse, the four strands of magic lit up, energetically entangling themselves even further with each other. Shutting them down would take even more than awaking them: there was practically no way that Voldemort would be able to get through them quickly, when he chose to attack.

Opening his eyes, Merlin saw that the room had become even brighter; the four sculptures were prancing around the place, energetically attending to their duties. Merlin smiled, and greeted them all enthusiastically.

"Emrys…" Said the lion with Godric's deep voice. Evidently, the Founders had chosen to leave an imprint of themselves on their protections.

"Albion must indeed be in danger if you have come back," Rowena's eagle whispered, giving one more turn around the room before settling down on Merlin's outstretched arm.

"It doesn't look very good," Merlin said somewhat sadly. At the back of his mind, he could always feel Magic screaming in pain at the imbalance caused by the rise of the dark powers in the world.

"You have done right by the school by activating the protections," Salazar's snake hissed. Merlin dropped to one knee to examine the snake; it was a miniaturised version of a basilisk.

"But you have inevitably tied yourself to the school," the eagle said. Merlin frowned at her. Tied himself? How?

"There will be a price to be paid," the badger pitched in. Merlin frowned at the grave tone of Helga Hufflepuff.

"What price?"

"Only time will tell…" Salazar hissed vaguely. Merlin gave another frown, having expected that answer. These were wards, and while they were sentient in a fashion, they weren't actually the Founders or Hogwarts themselves. They wouldn't know what the side-effects would be.

The eagle jumped into flight again, circling the room in perceived panic, as though willing to be set free from this small, damp room. He sighed, wishing too, to be set free from his constraints.


	9. Chapter 9

**Definitely my favourite chapter in this story... even just because of the world building. Writing as usual, childish. Ah, I was such a self-obsessed kid. **

**enjoy! **

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The seven leaders of the seven clans had assembled: behind each leader, stood their entire respective clan. Everyone was shouting and speaking at once.

Balinor, leader of the Ealdor clan, that was based in the forests of Scotland, watched everything with an impending sense of doom. They had all felt magic's distress growing in recent months. Druids were instinctively much more attuned to her than ordinary wizards, and as such often felt her fickle emotions.

Topic of this meeting was also the awakening of a sorcerer somewhere in the land… Less than a fortnight ago, magic had rejoiced, even in the middle of a war, when a spark of power had lit up in the north of Albion. Since Yuletide, it had been steadily getting stronger, until in an explosion of pure power that every Druid had felt, and some muggles had remarked on in their news programmes, it had vanished. After this point, it became evident that this sorcerer that had awoken, had also begun shielding himself, to avoid attention.

This implied that he, or she, was in a densely populated area and hoped not to be noticed. Of course, this only caused the seven clans to put aside their historical differences, and organise a council.

"Silence!" Arthek shouted. He was the leader of the Ylfing clan, who were in several cases, born werewolves. Arthek was a beast of a man, regardless of his werewolf ancestry.

"We are gathered here to agree and investigate, not squabble over our issues!" Arthek shouted into the crowds, getting onto a cracked, stone plinth in the middle of this Scottish forest.

"Hear hear!" shouted a voice from the back of the crowds. Balinor glanced over his shoulder at his tame, and well-behaved clan. They were slightly more modern than the others and had their own village with their own townhouse and legitimate 'muggle' presence. Ealdor, however, boasted to be the oldest Druidic clan, having existed more than a thousand five-hundred years in the same place. They also enjoyed the rumour of _the_ Emrys having lived there, then again, most clans boasted this same thing.

"We have all felt the power that has awoken in this land — and Magic's plight!" Arthek continued.

"And why do you think that is?" the elderly leader of the Gutyn clan asked in his frail voice. Ellis was an inordinately old man with a clean-shaven face and sharp eyes. His wits were as intact as they had been when he'd been a young man. Balinor rather liked him.

"Eh?" Arthek asked back.

Ellis shifted around so as to lean against his staff. "Voldemort has been tipping the balance — Grindelwald was the first to do this, but all was righted when the war ended and he was imprisoned. Voldemort is causing an uprising — the Giants have stormed down from the north, and the Vampires are gathering, there have been sightings of Incubi… Centaurs are armouring up…" Ellis was having difficulty breathing, but he continued nonetheless.

"The prophecy told of a power that would return to the land when Albion was in danger—"

"Emrys, you're talking of Emrys?" Arthek frowned. The other leaders exchanged grave looks, if Emrys was indeed back, then the situation was much, much, graver if Magic had decided to bring him back.

"The signs are there," Balinor called loudly as all the leaders began talking over each other again.

"Legends… ALL of it! Simply legends." Arthek called back sceptically. Ellis gave Balinor a nod in thanks for supporting him.

"They're not legends when you have felt the power first-hand," the quiet voice seemed to talk over everyone and in less than an instant, the gathering became completely silent. Heads turned to look at the youngest leader of them all: Kingsley Shacklebolt stood as regally as always, dressed as fashionably as always, and looking at them with that same serious expression that cowed even Arthek.

Kingsley was one of the rare Druids who practiced both Druidic magic, and the one that modern wizards had inherited. As a son of a druid and a pureblood modern wizard, he had inherited an affinity for both magics, making him a force to be reckoned with. He led a small clan, Cluain, that had fully integrated itself into wizarding society, influencing it from within and making sure that the rest of the Druid clans did not become known.

They also often happened to be druids born to wizard parents, much like witches and wizards were occasionally born to muggle couples. As far as Balinor knew, Kingsley sought such children out once their Druidic magic began acting up so as to help them understand what _it _was. Sometimes, they were invited to join the clan, in a long-distance fashion.

"During an attack at Diagon Alley last week, I had to inform the Minister for Magic, out of protocol. My patronus found him at Hogwarts in a meeting with Albus Dumbledore. And my patronus just so happened to detect powerful druidic magic wake up within the castle. Someone has activated the wards. This same person, possesses massive power."

The leaders exchanged thoughtful glances, not having expected this piece of information. Hogwarts had once been the location of Camelot, before modern wizards had taken over to create a school, it made sense for Emrys to go to that hotspot — if indeed, it was Emrys.

"Your report intrigues me, Kingsley," Ellis murmured. Balinor agreed. Finally, he too, give his two sickles.

"We must investigate this matter further," Arthek finally agreed. The other leaders nodded along, seemingly agreeing. Kingsley nodded.

"Five of my clan are students at Hogwarts — they have already been instructed to keep an eye open. A report is due any day now."

"Then we shall know more by the next meeting," Ellis said in his frail voice. Balinor exchanged looks with the other clan leaders, making sure that everyone was in agreement.

"Very well, meeting adjourned. Be sure to stay alert."

.

There was a little hut at the foot of the cliff upon which Hogwarts stood. It was at this hut that the Hogwarts students arrived on their boats before making a trek up to the cave-like entrance. In this hut, the boats floated in the water. In the middle, a small wooden pier had been set up, so that boats could stay marooned on either side.

On a summer day, one could sometimes see seventh and sixth year students taking their dates out on a little sail around the lake, provided they could conjure oars or otherwise magically make the boat move. On this January morning, Merlin was alone here.

He sat at the very end of the pier and looked out into the frozen lake, remembering days long past and his first and only love; the lady of the lake, Freya. He could see a muggleborn student in the distance, ice-skating over the frozen lake, stopping every now and then to stare at the stone statues that now patrolled the grounds of Hogwarts.

"It is curious that one never views historical figures as potentially real people. I had, until this moment, never even thought what Merlin might feel in any given moment," said Dumbledore's voice behind him. Merlin turned his head only slightly to see if he was alone.

"Well, I'm a druid, emotion is very important for us," Merlin replied. Dumbledore chuckled and murmured a soft 'indeed', although he most probably didn't really see how, having never seen or heard of a true druid.

"I cannot feel a single pure druid," Merlin said after a moment. There were those like Malfoy, who had a small trace of druidic magic in them, but he couldn't feel anyone out in the wide world. "Either they have all died out, or they have become increasingly better at hiding themselves."

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, before deftly getting into a boat. He laughed as it rocked to and fro.

"It has been a long time since I have been in one of these!"

Merlin glanced over at him, and although he admired Dumbledore for trying to change his mood, but a simple joke or anecdote would not fill the consuming emptiness in his mind. He withered psychologically if there weren't any Druids out there.

"You have seen the memory?" Merlin asked, finally turning to look at Dumbledore as he explored the details of the boat like a first year might. Many fourth-years had a to snuggle to fit in one such boat, not to mention a taller-than-average fully grown wizard.

"Indeed. It was as I had suspected," Dumbledore replied, switching his attention from the boat to Merlin. "Slughorn seems to have the catalyst…"

"Tom Riddle would've found other ways to figure Horcruxes out. It might've taken longer, but we would still be sitting here."

Dumbledore hummed again.

"Now we know there are seven of them," the old man said. Merlin glanced at him then at the rest of the hut; there was little chance of a student coming down here in the winter months… nevertheless… he made a small gesture with his hand. A pulse of blue light ran through the hut before everything returned to normal.

Dumbledore stared at him with amazement; Merlin hadn't felt the need to use the wand that the Headmaster had given him, not when when man knew who he was and what power he possessed. He forgot easily that wizards of this time had to use a wand for almost all spells.

"A silencing charm of sorts, and a few wards…" Merlin said by way of explanation. Dumbledore nodded in response; they had more urgent topics to discuss.

"Seven is an incredibly powerful number in Druidic sorcery; once upon a time, there were seven clans, seven leaders, seven sacrifices a year, and so on. It is no mistake that he chose the symbolism of seven Horcruxes. It could give them all a stronger tie to the Earth, and they could be harder to eradicate."

"Tom always appreciated symbolism and he had a deep fascination with the Founders, in particular Salazar Slytherin. I suspect he might have tried to collect the artefacts."

Merlin mulled over this and a sudden thought hit him. "The Diary, and the Ring, they were both Hocruxes?"

Dumbledore raised his right hand which had been burned by the curses that Tom Riddle had placed on the Ring. The hand was almost black and completely scarred; it looked like rotting flesh. Merlin had seen a few curses do this sort of thing, but they were always slow-acting, and tortured the victim for months, sometimes years, before eventually consuming the person.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, dropping his hand to his lap. "My own research has not revealed much more. The only way to destroy them seems to be Basilisk venom, as it was what you used to get rid of the one in the Diary. It is also what Severus and I used to destroy the Ring."

"Snape knows?" Merlin was surprised. For all his expertise in war, he knew what spies were like and he had been certain that the man was a double-agent, but he hadn't expected Dumbledore to trust him enough to confess such a secret to him.

"His loyalty is a certainty," Dumbledore replied, easily realising what Merlin actually wished to know.

"And you know this…" the 'how' remained soundlessly attached to the sentence.

"His love for your mother overpowers his greed for power," Dumbledore finally confessed, focusing his gaze directly on Merlin. "He was in love with her and would do anything to protect her son. Severus is entirely on your side and he wouldn't dream of fighting for Voldemort."

Merlin uncrossed his legs and scooted a little closer to the edge of the pier; his feet just managed to skim the ice below.

"That is… unexpected," he mused to himself thoughtfully. His thoughts turned to other texts he could borrow: Herpo the Foul, who had invented the concept of Horcruxes, he knew from a brief visit to the library, had lived and died in the fourteenth century. Melin had lived closer to the tenth or ninth.

Merlin cleared his throat. "A Horcrux could be any object, correct?"

Dumbledore looked at him strangely. Obviously they had already gone over this. Merlin sighed.

"Theoretically, it could also be attached to a living organism?"

"That is correct…" Dumbledore trailed off and his gaze flicked up to Merlin's lighting bolt scar. When their gazes met again, both looked grim, having realised something monumental.

"The scar is a Horcrux," Merlin said slowly, fingers brushing over his forehead. He could feel something foreign inside, impeding his magic in some way.

"I had suspected this fact…" The Headmaster murmured quietly. Merlin turned his angry gaze on him.

"You had suspected? And yet you didn't tell me?" Merlin heaved himself back to his feet; Dumbledore sat up a little straighter in his little boat. "You feel you are omniscient, old man? You feel you know best? What is this obsession with keeping all the cards so close to your chest? You might die any day now, Albus! And who will carry on your work?"

Dumbledore's head dropped in shame as Merlin berated him.

"You preach trust and closeness, and yet you confide and love no one," Merlin finished with a little bit of a snarl. He wasn't the cooky, peculiar old man that modern wizardry seemed to portray him as. He enjoyed a little giddiness every now and then, but he was a product of war; magic had fashioned him to battle the forces that usurped the Balance.

"It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all," Dumbledore kindly professed. "I was in love once, with a boy who incited within me a thirst for power. Had my sister's… death not shaken me from my obsession with him, I might have just joined him in his quest to purify the world of muggleborns and destroy the Statue of Secrecy so as to lord over all those who we considered to be less powerful… and I am ashamed to say, less worthy."

"Grindelwald," Merlin said with sudden realisation. Dumbledore gave him a sad, lopsided smile. Merlin also realised that this was Dumbledore apologising and extending an olive branch.

"Escape from positions of power was what brought me to a position as a transfiguration professor." Arguably, a teacher had the strongest position of power in all of society to mould the future generations. Their values, their know-how, their morals.

"And your friendship with Nicolas Flamel…" Merlin let the question hang. Dumbledore wrinkled his eyebrows in a confused way, probably wondering why Merlin was asking about him in the first place.

"I was an apprentice of his during my summer before my seventh year and we remained good friends long after that. Nicolas wrote to me in his last letter that he and Penerelle have come to their last batch of pre-stored elixir. I'm afraid he is close to death now."

"I should like to meet him," Merlin said slowly. "As Merlin, not as Harry. His experience with alchemy must be unparalleled and should there be a way to get rid of the Horcrux in my scar, then he will be the answer to it, I think." He cocked his head to the side.

"Yes?" Dumbledore prompted. A thought had just popped into Merlin's mind and he glanced out into the sky, remembering what it had looked like during his third year when Dementors had taken up residence in the grounds.

"Dementors have the ability to 'kiss souls'?" At Dumbledore's questioning gaze, Merlin waved a dismissive hand. "I had only heard rumours of them in the Roman Empire, but never in Avalon. My knowledge of them stems only from this life-time."

"My boy — er, Merlin, surely you are not implying…"

"That's exactly what I'm implying. I may just ask a Dementor to kiss me."

If not in that precise context, Merlin would have actually laughed at the peculiar phrase. Anyone kissing _him_ would have certainly cracked up Arthur.

"No. I forbid it." Dumbledore was frowning and a cold quality had appeared in his tone and countenance. Merlin blinked, surprised.

"I was not aware that you were in the position to forbid such a thing."

"It is hypocritical, no? To accuse me of distrust, and indifference, when you yourself would put your life at risk in such a meaningless fashion?" Dumbledore straightened in his boat and it occurred to Merlin that he didn't necessarily have an ambition to survive whatever was coming. Magic would just reincarnate him to the next time that Avalon was in danger… when all that he wanted was to be with his family, as Harry and as Merlin.

"Flamel it is then," Merlin mumbled, looking away, knowing that his argument was beaten. Dumbledore gave a satisfied nod.

"I shall organise a meeting, he will certainly be very eager to meet you — he once told me he owns the world's largest collection of Merlin's artefacts."

Merlin's eyes widened before a small laugh bubbled out of him. "I would like to have my staff back. Arthur had it made for me."

"King Arthur?" Dumbledore's eyes widened as he leaned forwards. The boat instantly rocked in the same direction and gently hit the pier. Merlin smiled fondly.

"It isn't a very well known fact, but Hogwarts was Camelot, once upon a time," Merlin said quietly, as though sharing a secret. He gestured at the lake.

"That is the lake where Freya's spirit rests, the Potion Master's quarters? Those used to be mine. The Great Hall was where the Throne room used to sit, and the trophy room in the back was an intimate dining hall."

"Merl—" Dumbledore had gone for the default wizarding expletive, but caught himself in time, blushing slightly.

Merlin smiled again, this time a little more joyfully as scenes of his youth and life came back to him; mentoring Arthur, then standing at his side as he rebuilt the Kingdom that his father had partially destroyed. Avalon had flourished from then on… until Morgana with Mordred at her side had attacked. It had taken all they had to defeat them — Arthur had given his life for his kingdom, but without him, it had crumbled and been divided between greedy lords from the south. The castle had stood in ruins until the Founders of Hogwarts had taken over, rebuilding what had to be rebuilt, and installing new rooms such as the Chamber of Secrets.

"I met Arthur on this very same spot, actually. He was a young boy then, trying to learn to swim and I transfigured him into a fish," Merlin laughed. Dumbledore quickly became completely enraptured as Merlin continued to tell stories of joy, deep into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello. It's been a year since the last update and I've just realised that I never finished uploading my pre-existing chapters for this story. I actually have about 30k words worth of story saved on my laptop. So there's that. I've been distracted with uni and the general pandemic sweeping the world. How's everyone doing? Hopefully well. Also, I hope I can give you some sort of comfort with this new update.

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Merlin followed Draco at a distance; he didn't wish for anyone to know of their association, because that would constitute as something out-of-character for him, never mind for a Gryffindor. Every time he passed a suit of armour he was given a nod or a salute. Portraits gave him winks or waves.

They approached a hallway on the seventh floor where Draco Malfoy suddenly stopped and turned to face the wall. Then he walked three times back and forth. Merlin watched with fascination as a pair of magnificent doors appeared; he had never seen through his eyes as Merlin.

Malfoy glanced up and down the hallway, before nodding at Merlin and then pushing through the door. Merlin followed him and gently shut the doors behind him. Outside in the corridor, these same doors disappeared.

He was easily surprised by the decor that the Room of Requirement had taken on. It was a sort of winter garden belonging to a massive manor, possibly the Malfoy's. It had a peaceful quality to it, with its many aromatic plants and warm temperature. Merlin immediately felt comfortable.

"Malfoy manor's hidden winter garden," Draco said, once their silence had dragged on for an uncomfortable while. Merlin hummed in interest, looking around.

Light flooded in through the glass roof, but it being winter, it wasn't oppressive. Around them, the country-side view was covered with a blanket of snow so thick that even the trees in the distance seemed to melt into it.

"It's quite beautiful," Merlin remarked. A small, earnest smile crossed Malfoy's lips. They waited a minute longer, until suddenly they heard a patter of feet in front of the general area where the door was supposed to be, and five familiar people stepped in. Not noticing Merlin at first, they strolled in with a sombre seriousness and took their places in various comfortable chairs and armchairs set up throughout the winter garden.

"Harry — Merlin, what are you doing here!" Neville had spoken first, eyes wide as his mouth popped open. Merlin, who was tired of being used as an expletive almost chastised himself, but was also just as surprised to see his roommate in this circle of Druidic Hogwarts students.

"I wasn't aware you had Druidic heritage," Merlin said, frowning. He stretched out a tendril of magic and stealthy tested out Neville's. It was oddly protected. It was then that Merlin's gaze alighted on a small flint medallion that Neville wore around his neck. A protective sigil was carved into the stone.

"My gran gave me this to protect from any Druids that might be helping You-Know-Who. She said they'd be trying to exploit me—"

"Tosh," Merlin interrupted seriously. All eyes turned to him with interest. He realised that these children had no idea of what magic and heritage they had inherited. "Druids don't side with the light or with the dark, Dumbledore or Voldemort (Draco and the other Slytherin hissed uncomfortably). They side with Magic herself, who is neutral."

"You seem tah know a lotta 'bout this," Lucy Carmichael said. Merlin was vaguely aware of her; she was a year under him and was in Ravenclaw. An O's student, apparently. He'd often heard the boys in his house fawning over her. She had, however, a very thick accent.

"I do."

Blaise Zabini was the other Slytherin; he sat at Draco Malfoy's side and betrayed little to no emotion.

Neville was the last boy. He had stood up in surprise upon seeing Merlin standing in the back of the winter garden. Also gathered in the Room of Requirement, was a girl from Hufflepuff, fourth year by the look of it, and one more from Gryffindor and another from Ravenclaw. Merlin was proud to see that the Druidic community was so well integrated in all of the houses.

"_Harry_," Malfoy stressed the first-name. Blaise looked at him in surprise. "Is our new teacher. His… knowledge seems to surpass our own where Druidic magic is concerned and whereas we all had to share one tome before, he seems to know where we can get more."

Looks of excitement quickly appeared on the three younger girls.

"I'm Mary Bones — you taught me in the DA last year!" A fourth year Hufflepuff by the look of it.

"Yes, I remember. And you were also there, weren't you, Laura. Laura Moon was it?" The third year Ravenclaw student nodded enthusiastically.

"Alicia Spinnet," said said girl, rising from her seat to shake Merlin's hand. He laughed quietly.

"You're my best seeker, I should know who you are, Alicia," he said kindly. The girl blushed. Indeed, March wasn't too far away and they would be playing their penultimate game against Hufflepuff.

"Shall we sit?" Draco had stood up out of politeness once the girls had moved to their feet. The girls sat, and so did he. Merlin remained standing.

"I'm curious, I have felt Druidic magic in this castle for some time, but only Malfoy's. Are the rest of you protecting yourselves with the same medallions?" The group nodded or made affirmative sounds. Merlin hummed in interest.

"Kingsley gave them to us — well, except for Neville," Laura Moon said, eager to please anyone with knowledge. She was a Ravenclaw, after all.

"Come again? Kingsley?" Merlin drew his eyebrows to a frown.

"All yehr supposed knowledge and yeh don't know 'bout Kingsley Shaklebolt?" Lucy Carmichael taunted. Merlin had always despised those who dangled information.

"I'm… somewhat self-taught," he evaded. She harrumphed, but offered no answer. Blaise took over.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt heads the Cluain clan. A clan is a society of sorts — for Druids. Most of the other clans consider themselves 'pure' and will take in muggles, on rare occasions. But they don't want modern wizards who might 'sully' their reputation. They've existed for a thousand years at least," Blaise said, his tone grave. "Kingsley sought us all out once our Druidic magic began acting out and helped us onto our feet. All of us except for Draco and Longbottom accepted the invitation to remain in the clan too, not just train with each other."

"He only had the one tome available," Malfoy continued, producing an old and tattered thing. It took Merlin a moment to realise where he had seen it before, but a small smile immediately appeared on his face once he finally recognised it as the very first text he had written for the children who'd lived in his own clan for a while. Easy spells, easy concepts. He had had no idea that Druidic magic had devolved so much… third, fourth, fifth, and sixth years all casting the same spells? At the same level?!

"Have other clans… survived?" Merlin felt his throat go dry as he wondered whether his own still functioned. He had been rather fond of their methods and values.

"From what Kingsley's told us — and me gran — there's seven. There's Arthek, leads the Ylfing clan, pretty aggressive sort of magic. The Gutyn clan is lead by Ellis. There are four others, but I don't think Kingsley ever gave me their names. I told him I didn't want to take sides this early on — I was and am on your side, Harry," Neville said, sobering at the end. Merlin patted him on the shoulder, wondering why people felt the constant need to appoint him as leader, but felt nevertheless quite touched.

"I think I remember a Balinor?" Mary Bones said slowly. Her friend, Laura Moon literally snapped her fingers at her in sudden realisation.

"Of course!" Laura exclaimed. "There was the Ealdor clan — it's even referenced in the tome. We can't read it very well, because it's in ancient—"

Merlin's gaze shot towards her excitedly.

"You said Ealdor?" His heart was beating wildly in his chest. They were his family. Very distant, but family.

"Er, yes. Kingsley was talking about forming a coalition with them for the war. Everyone in our clan is going to… well, you know, try and fight the dark side, and he's trying to win over the druids, starting with Ealdor," Alicia replied for Lily and Mary, evidently also wanting to show Merlin some portion of her knowledge.

Merlin mused over this angrily. If this was truly what Kingsley was trying to do, then he had massively misinterpreted whatever other Druidic texts he owned. He began pacing, aware that the other Hogwarts students were eyeing him nervously; his magic had begun acting up and he instantly calmed himself. Malfoy was eyeing him with newfound respect, evidently having only just now realised that the power that Merlin had just displayed was only a small portion of what he could truly do.

"He's got it very wrong," he told the students. _His _students now, he supposed.

"Magic is neutral. She is sentient and she is a sort of deity to be respected. Used, but respected with reverence. Modern magic stems from the wizard himself. Druidic magic, however, draws from the universal and dimensional energies simultaneously with one's own. To draw from the universe and the various dimensions, a balance must exist. One must simultaneously draw from the dark and the light for the balance to remain — has the tome not taught you as much?"

Neville blushed and he picked it up from the table upon which Draco had left it. He flickered through it.

"Draco and I are the only ones who took ancient runes, so we kinda skipped over the theory and went straight to the spells."

Merlin pursed his lips. Perhaps it was time for them to get a small taste for true Druidic power.

"Watch."

He extended a hand, palm upwards. A flame instantly appeared over his hand. His audience gasped; even Malfoy couldn't resist a gawp.

"Fire is the purest of all magics. It is light — very literally on the light, and the first thing that magic created when making the universe."

This sort of show was what he had done for the little Druidic children back in his first lifetime. They had enjoyed it, but had all left with a renewed respect and understanding for the Old Religion.

"But where there is a light, there is a shadow," said Merlin, gesturing at the soft shadow that had appeared behind one of the chairs. "The Old Religion is about harnessing this," Merlin snapped his fingers and the flame sprung to life again. "And that—"

Their gazes all turned to the theatre of shadows that played out against the cover of the book that Neville was holding. The shadows jumped off of the book and seemed to almost come to life, growing until they were the size of an average House-Elf. They attacked the leg of the table and it instantly toppled over. Merlin disbanded the shadow-warriors.

"I harnessed the power of the light, to create warriors of the dark. A balance remained. That is a lesson to you that magic is but a tool and we must use it wisely. I will translate the tome for you. I cannot begin teaching you until you have all read at least all of the theory — and understood it."

He took the tome from Neville, flicking through it again, recognising his chicken-scratch penmanship, even when writing in runes. He whispered a spell under his breath, passing a hand over the closed cover. He felt his eyes heat up with a golden light and… voila. A second tome appeared in his book, now in English.

Merlin placed both on the now repaired table, turned, and left the Room of Requirement.

.

When March rolled into April, Merlin came to the rather radical decision that he would not be able to live with himself any longer if Hermione and Ron did not know the truth. He had been gearing up to tell them for some time, and had chosen a specific morning to do so, when in his morning mail, he received not only Dumbledore's latest chess move, but also the news that Aragog, Hagrid's King acromantula, had died.

He sent off an answer to Dumbledore about both his chess move, and his apologies about having to move their outing with Flamel to the next day, as Aragog's funeral took precedence, him being a creature of the Old Religion. Merlin headed off to his classes, with Hermione hot at his heels.

They passed in a sort of daze, as they usually did these days. He was doing terrible in all his classes except potions. His magic simply did not work the way modern wizards used it. Before he had regained his power, it had already been somewhat troublesome and after he had, his Druidic magic had completely dwarfed whatever this reincarnation had inherited from James and Lily.

Whilst Dumbledore's wand worked better than his old one had (Merlin suspected that the wand held some sort of creature from the Old Religion), the moment danger struck, he would either use his 'wandless' magic, or need a staff for anything more complicated. Hence his anticipation for that night's meeting with Flamel — hopefully the man had that magical object in his Emrys-collection, as it was known around certain magical communities.

"You've been out of sorts today," Hermione said quietly as they left their last class for the day. "Well, more than usual," she added on, having caught Ron's eye-roll.

"Aragog's dead."

"Well good riddance, I say!" Ron exclaimed, a shudder running through him just at the thought of spiders. Acromantuli were creatures of the Old Religion, one of the only ones still alive today and whenever someone or something a part of it died, the whole Druidic community felt it.

"Death is never a 'good riddance'," Merlin admonished sternly. Ron had the decency of looking slightly ashamed.

"Is Hagrid doing a sort of funeral?" Hermione asked quickly, attempting to diffuse the tension. Merlin nodded.

"Just before dinner. Yes. Outside his hut."

"We'll come with you. Hagrid will need all the support he can get," Hermione said kindly. Ron gave her a look that said she was crazy.

"We are?" His voice was very, very high. Merlin laughed at his expense, not being able to help it.

"Yes, Ronald, we are. Hagrid is our friend and we'll support him."

They deposited their bags in the common room and then traipsed all the way back down to the Entrance Hall. From there on, they walked at a leisured pace to Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid had dug a massive hole in the ground behind his hut, right on the border between the Hogwarts grounds and the Forbidden Forrest. The acromantula lay there, lifeless and limp. His legs had tucked themselves into his body. The many eyes were shut and his limp mouth was slightly open, revealing a few fangs connected to their venom-sacks, which Merlin knew modern wizards liked to use for valuable potions. In his book this was as atrocious as using unicorn blood for healing.

Slughorn stood next to Hagrid and Fang. He wore a sad expression, but his eyes kept settling back on the venom sacks with greed. Merlin frowned, disapproving. Hermione and Ron came to a stop on his either side and when Slughorn turned to look at the newcomers, he quickly ducked his head. He had become increasingly more weary of Merlin as the year went on.

"Farewell, Aragog, king of arachnids, whose long and faithful friendship those who knew you won't forget! Though your body will decay, your spirit lingers on in the quiet, web-spun places of your forest home. May your many-eyed descendants ever flourish and your human friends find solace for the loss they have sustained," Slughorn delivered his eulogy with a flourish, but Merlin noticed him slip in a little vial of venom into his robes… that despicable—

Hermione coughed a little too loudly for her to just be clearing her throat and Merlin noticed that frost had appeared in the area around them. He licked his lips nervously and calmed down, the frost remained.

"Hagrid, may I?" Merlin murmured to the giant as he and Slughorn began turning away into the hut to drink Hagrid's sorrows away, and for the potion's master to presumably celebrate his victories in getting this rare venom.

The half-giant gave him a confused stare but Merlin gave him a reassuring smile and the man nodded. What loyalty and trust!

Merlin approached the giant spider and briefly laid a hand on the centre of its body. He murmured an incantation that was supposed to see the transition of druids into the after-life. He had no idea if it would help a magical creature, but a blessing from him would not go wasted.

Deciding that this was not enough to commemorate the majestic power that was this creature, he gathered his magic, and blasted it at the grave that Hagrid had created. In an instant, crystal just seemed to erupt from the air around the spider, covering it in a massive glass casing. The acromantula was still visible, albeit distorted by the irregularities in the crystal. But it was indestructible. Aragog would serve as a reminder that the Old Religion lived on.

Hagrid instantly burst into tears and thanked Merlin profusely. Slughorn guided him away to his hut, presumably to drink together.

Merlin sighed and turned to his two friends who were staring at him in amazement. Ron kept looking between him and the crystal and Hermione's whole jaw had dropped. Ah, he'd forgotten the wand, right.

"What the bloody hell?" Ron had regained his word-smithing brain-regions first. Hermione was quick to follow with a whole barrage of questions relating to 'what spell did you use?' or 'was that more accidental than theoretical?'.

"My friends, I must confess something to you," Merlin said, cutting through all of her questions. Her jaw shut in mid-speech. Ron looked at him attentively.

"But not here," he murmured to them, and guided them back to the castle, where he guided them in the direction of the dungeons. He descended down the steps into the darkness. Having spent a lifetime in this castle already, he could walk through it blind, but for his friends' benefit, he cast a lighting spell; in an instant, the torches all lit up.

They had spent more time than expected at the funeral. Dinner had come and gone, and most of the castle had gone to sleep. Their footsteps were suddenly much louder than usually.

Finally, he guided them to a portrait of the familiar face of Salazar Slytherin. Not that Hermione and Ron knew that. He gave the portrait a small salute and it slowly moved to the side.

"Well, go on. Quick, before Snape catches us," he murmured to them quietly, when they hesitated at the porch. They quickly stumbled in.

"Oh my God, these are the potions professor's quarters! We can't be here, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yeah mate, we all know Slughorn likes you — but we'll all get detention if— what are you doing?"

Merlin smiled at them as he reached to the ornament beside the fireplace; the small snake head had followed their every movement since they had entered the room and now flicked it's tongue in the air. Regardless of the fact that it was made out of marble, the snake was fascinatingly flexible. Merlin stroked it's head, before giving it a gentle nudge of magic.

It gave a hiss and disappeared into the other ornaments. Several metallic noises sounded before the fireplace dismantled before their very eyes, much like the archway to Diagon Alley appeared to first-timers, or walk-ins from the muggle world.

Hermione gasped in surprise.

"Harry… what is this?"

"Why don't you go and see?" Merlin said mischievously. He stepped right through and pulled Ron along. She followed them this time without hesitating. The fireplace closed behind them and this time, Hermione actually staggered at the sight that was revealed before them:

A large Hall, perhaps not as big as the Great Hall, but somewhat like Dumbledore's office, appeared. Books lined every wall; and above them was a glass dome that placed them directly under the lake. A mermaid swam past them, not noticing a thing, even as Merlin's mere presence lit every torch and chandelier in the room.

"This… is…" Ron began. Not a fan of libraries, he still seemed amazed by the sight.

"Beautiful…" Hermione finished for him. She began taking slow steps into the centre of the room until her curiosity got the better of her and she began examining the books. A desk was positioned at the far end. It was the only place where the glass dome continued to the floor so that one's view as one wrote at one's desk, was the magnificence of underground lake-life. Far in the distance a metal sword hilt glinted in the moon's light.

Merlin approached his desk hesitantly, knowing what he'd find there. His unfinished letter to the Founders, reminding them of the danger of relying only on modern magic, and completely disregarding Druidic magic as old-fashioned and a relic. He had never been able to finish the letter when Hogwarts had been attacked by Mordred. Merlin had died battling him and protecting his home; Camelot, Hogwarts, whatever it was called.

"What is this place?" Hermione whispered reverently. She had moved to his side, as he blew the dust off of the letter and disregarded quill. The Gaelic script was nothing like what people wrote like today, but that had been the language with which the Founders had communicated with Merlin. He had been and old man when he had met them and begun helping them set up the school in his old stomping grounds and beyond learning Old Norse or English.

Ron, who had been examining an array of weapons hanging on a wall, walked over, interested in whatever Merlin would have to say. For once, he was not complaining or attempting to get Hermione's attention.

Merlin picked up a leather-bound book which had been left open on his desk. His last spell-book. The spine cracked as he took it into his hands.

"Harry! These things are really fragile!" Hermione exclaimed, moving to take the book from him. But he quickly flicked the pages to the very first page. Thankfully, he had thought to cast some powerful stasis charms when he had first chosen to begin writing in it.

"Can you read this?" Merlin asked, showing her the Druidic runes on the very first page. There were only four of them, easy enough to read. Hermione frowned as her academic interest took over.

"It looks like Druidic…" she trailed off, eyes narrowing as she translated the runes into syllables.

"Yes…?" Merlin prompted. Ron leaned forwards to get a look.

"Em… I think that's Emry…"

"Emrys, isn't it?" Ron asked suddenly. Merlin and Hermione looked at him in surprise. He shrugged. "Mum used to read me stories from Beedle the Bard, that symbol comes up a few times."

"Do you know what the second part means?" Hermione asked him. He shrugged again. Her hand dropped on his shoulder and trailed down to his hand anyway in a small, affectionate show of thanks. Merlin knew that he had broken up with Lavender the week before. Hermione and him had quickly hit it off, in a more romantic sense.

"Well… Let's see… That's definitely Ambr… Oh! Emrys Ambrosius!"

Her mind only seemed to catch up with her mouth a few seconds later when she let out a squeal of terror… or perhaps delight. It was hard to tell.

"Oh my God, oh my—" she continued repeating the expletive several times until even Ron told her that she was being a bit hysterical.

"No, no no… Ron! You don't understand… This belongs to Emrys — the Emrys — Ron — this is Merlin's!"

Ron's jaw dropped as he made the connection too, undoubtedly knowing the name, as he had been raised by a family full of wizards, after all.

"Mate… how in the bloody hell did you find this place?" Ron was looking around with a renewed appreciation. Merlin smiled at them and led through an archway decorated with little marble statuettes, to a little sitting area with a small fireplace. Once upon a time, there had been an official entrance to this office, where students had come to ask questions about their assignments, but the Founders seemed to have boarded that up, not knowing that Merlin had built in an emergency entrance and exit for himself as well.

He lit the fireplace with a wave of his hand, as it was futile to continue attempting to conceal his true power. He asked them to sit. They were too stupefied to do anything else. He remained standing as he paced in front of them nervously. Dumbledore had been a whole other deal. These were his friends, he didn't want to be idolised and revered by anyone, least of all by his friends.

"My friends, you must understand that whatever I withheld from you, I did for my personal safety and… perhaps partially out of egoism… and my obsession with the possibility of leading a normal life. As it has turns out… this is impossible. Because of who I am… because of who I was."

"Who you were…?" Ron repeated, blinking at him. His head seemed to have made the connection already, but his mouth wasn't functioning properly.

"You don't mean—" Hermione broke off as everything clicked into place. She let out a small yelp and covered her mouth. Ron put a hand over her shoulder as he too came to the same conclusion.

Merlin nodded somewhat sadly. "I began having visions some time at Yule — Christmas. I lived through all of my previous life and due to a duel with Dumbledore was forced to accept that I was and indeed am Merlin. In an instant, I regained all of my knowledge, memories, and power. It is due to this that I have been behaving so… oddly in recent months."

Merlin took a deep breath, watching their unreadable expression with slight fear.

"I know it must be difficult to understand reincarnation, but I always was Merlin, from the very start. I had been stripped off of my memories and power and given the name Harry Potter, but my soul was the same. I-I-I may be Merlin, but I will always be your Harry Potter. I only wish for you to understand this and treat me no different as the friend that you have always had in me."

* * *

I haven't reread this story in about a year or so but I remember doing some vague editing while I was writing. I'll post the next chapter next Friday!


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